


Close Your Mouth, Open Your Eyes

by Lamenta



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bickering, Blood Mages, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Explicit Language, Grey Wardens, Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Passive-aggression, Prostitution, Purple!Flirty!Blood Mage!Hawke beware, Sarcasm, Slavery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Blooming Rose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5696650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamenta/pseuds/Lamenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Featherbow won first place in my Followers Giveaway on Tumblr! This was supposed to be at least 3k but this is obviously going to get longer... °u° Apologies.</p><p>Request:<br/>How about au where Fenris wasn’t able to get free of Danarius and instead Anders spots him collared and leashed when Danarius visits Kirkwall (for some reason. maybe buying slaves) and is determined to free the elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Featherbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Featherbow/gifts).



The raging storm brought more and more people to the Blooming Rose. Within an hour after his arrival, the place was terribly crowded with both, nobels and merchants, nursing a drink or getting entertained by the brothel’s staff.

 

It was easy for Anders to hide in the crowd, for once barely attracting attention as he sipped on his watered-down wine and listened to Madam Lusine murmuring quietly about whatever health issues some of the prostitutes had, a young pregnant elf girl being her main concern tonight. Anders absent-mindedly agreed to have a look at her in the morning, when the brothel was closed for clean-ups, the wine warming his belly and fighting the chill in his body. He had been strolling the city almost all day and the weather had gotten to him.

 

One of tonight’s customers had caught his attention as soon as he’d set foot into the Blooming Rose. At the far end of the room, at the largest table this establishment had to offer, a magister from Tevinter had taken his seat. Cold, grey eyes carefully scanned the room. He wasn’t easy to please and did not make hasty decisions when choosing a bed mate, Anders figured. He carefully watched, carefully listened, to the prostitutes, male or female. Now and then, interest would spark in his eyes and eventually, the magister settled for three that appeared to interest him the most and gave them his attention, while wine and a meal were served. Apart from the waitress that had been assigned to see to his needs, the people avoided the magister’s table.

 

A hapless smile formed on Anders’ lips. Funny, how mages were prosecuted in Thedas, chained and locked up in Circle towers yet no one, not even the Templar who’d left the Blooming Rose about half an hour ago, dared facing a magister from Tevinter. His name was Danarius, that much Anders had learned by now. He also learned that Danarius owned a mansion in Hightown and had come to Kirkwall for business matters.

 

What intrigued Anders the most about Danarius, though, was not the magister himself but his company. The elf standing next to him, motionless, eyes trained on the crowd. His body was taut, though Anders could not tell if it was discomfort over the place he was in or due to the rather impressive broad sword strapped to the elf’s back. Lines of silver decorated the elf’s tanned skin and Anders wondered who had performed such artistic work and how the artist had managed to do _that_.

 

The elf’s sight would have certainly been more appealing, were it not for the collar around his neck and the chain attached to it, its end held by the magister’s servant, who stood on Danarius’ other side.

 

Anders frowned at the collar as he took another sip of wine. The elf was a slave and for a long while, he had wondered why Danarius saw great need to keep him on a leash. So had the Fade spirit sharing his body, muttering about the injustice done to this poor, beautiful creature. Justice seemed particularly fond of elves since fighting alongside the Hero of Ferelden and having deep conversations with the Dalish elf mage Velanna. But then, Justice was also fond of bringing justice to everyone and he was clawing and snarling beneath his skin, demanding they freed the elf. It had been a long, exhausting internal dialogue between them, with Anders explaining Tevinter politics and their view on slavery; of elves who had been slaves, servants to magisters for generations, who had been born into slavery; never spending a thought on freedom since the concept was unknown to them; Justice agreeing that they could not do something in a room full of people who had no idea they had an apostate mage in their midst. They had caused enough of an uproar only a week ago, at the Chantry, trying to free Anders’ former lover and arriving too late. A fact Anders was still mourning.

 

Once again, Anders found himself glancing at the motionless elf. It was then that he saw it – the brief flicker of the elf’s gaze, vigilant eyes scanning the area. Memorizing windows, the path to the entrance and Anders could practically _see_ the elf calculating the various options he had.

 

His full attention on the elf now, Anders straightened his body, wine forgotten. “Justice,” he hissed quietly.

 

**I noticed** , the Fade spirit murmured.

 

Danarius said something. He didn’t look at the elf by his side but whatever it had been, the elf lowered his head, eyes dark as he gazed at his naked feet. His slender shoulders slumped a fraction. There was a shiver in the thick air inside the Blooming Rose and Anders made a face at the powerful, dark magic he could sense. _Maleficar be damned_ , he cursed inwardly.

 

**This elf desires freedom** , Justice pointed out. **He is not like the ones you told me about**.

 

_“_ Would certainly explain why the magister is keeping him on a leash,” Anders agreed. It was easier to speak to Justice with him talking out loud than try and speak to him with their conscience shared, in which they blended way more often, which made internal dialogues exhausting and confusing.

 

**We must free him**.

 

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose. “And just how do you suggest we go about this?” he whispered, his almost empty cup of wine lifting to his mouth so no one would notice his lips moving. _“_ This is a magister, a _maleficar_ , from Tevinter. He’s got an elven slave with him who carries a rather big sword on his back and I’m afraid he’ll defend his master, no matter what. The two servants are no doubt armed or have other nasty tricks up their sleeves. The room is full of people of which half at least hate mages and will call the Templars.”

 

**Then think of a subtle way**.

 

Anders’ cheeks puffed indignantly. “ _Me_?” he grumbled.

 

“Something wrong, dear?”

 

The mage flinched when Madam Lusine suddenly appeared behind him, her thin fingers gripping and massaging his shoulders.

 

“Just, uh…talking to myself,” Anders murmured.

 

Lusine chuckled. “You’re tense. Are you sure I cannot offer you one of my whores to get rid of some tension tonight, darling?”

 

Anders’ gaze flitted back to the magister and his elf. Again, he caught those green eyes – green enough that even from the distance, he could see their color – scanning the room. There was a despair in those eyes that Anders was too familiar with and his heart clenched in his chest with compassion for the poor creature.

 

It was risky. It was stupid, _really_ stupid, to even consider this but that look in the elf’s eyes was all the persuasion he needed.

 

“No, thank you, sweetheart,” Anders replied with a smile. It actually felt honest, even though it was as forced as it could be. “I have other matters to take care of tonight.”

 

“Be careful,” Lusine told him with a warning look in her eyes and Anders was once again convinced that woman could read minds. The mere idea was unsettling.

 

 

He still needed several more minutes until Anders was moving. He pushed through the crowd, avoiding greedy hands and sinful offers, his gaze fixed on the table everyone seemed to avoid. It was only a few steps away from it, that the mage’s hand gave some unfortunate sod a rough push and sent him stumbling toward the magister.

 

As expected, the elf reacted quick, his posture going from defensive to offensive, a slender hand reaching for the broadsword. Danarius didn’t offer the man more than one glance, one hand gesturing for the two servants to take care of the ‘problem’.

 

Anders barely managed to grab the man by the shoulder when one of the men had already reached for his dagger. The elf froze mid-movement when Anders stumbled into the picture, the same vigilant eyes now giving him their full attention. And Maker, they truly were green…

 

“Now, now,” Anders said with a lopsided smile, “while even a Templar knows better than getting involved with a magister, Serah, they will not overlook blood being spilled needlessly.” A gentle pat on the poor drunken man’s back had him sink to his knees and Anders murmured an apology for using him in such a manner.

 

It was a tiny spell, one meant to make someone relax and fall asleep. Anders used it often enough in his free clinic. Nothing impressive for certain, but it still caught Danarius’ attention. A shiver crept down Anders’ spine when he found those piercing grey eyes resting on him. Cold as the ice covering Frostback Mountain; the schooled expression of gentleness on the man’s face not fooling Anders enough to overlook the cruelty in those eyes as well.

 

Danarius gestured for his men to step back, including the elf by his side, who let go of his sword and lowered his gaze.

 

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Anders said, still smiling, “just saving you from trouble, Serah.”

 

Danarius chuckled, the expression on his face almost benevolent now as he gestured at the empty chairs. “Please, sit,” Danarius invited, “and let me repay your courage. Would have anyone else noticed, you’d be in severe trouble, my friend.”

 

Another simple gesture of his hand and one of Danarius’ servants left the table as Anders sat down.

 

**What are you doing?** Justice demanded to know.

 

_Being subtle_.

 

“Truly, our people do not lead an easy life outside the Imperium,” Danarius murmured. “Have you ever been to the Imperium, my friend?”

 

“No, though my roots lie in the Anderfels,” Anders replied truthfully. He could see the elf’s ears twitch. He was listening.

 

Danarius didn’t miss the brief glance and smirked. “I see my precious little pet caught your attention.”

 

Anders offered a bashful smile and fake-cleared his throat. “I will admit his exotic looks surely caught my interest when I entered the place, earlier, though they are not the reason for ending up so close to your table, Serah. Everyone knows better than to get too close to a magister.”

 

Danarius, in response, raised his glass to Anders, inclined his head and took a sip of the expensive wine he’d ordered moments before Anders had approached his table. Next to him, the elf was once again scanning the area. “My little wolf certainly catches the eye of everyone,” the magister agreed, his tone fond.

 

It was a start, Anders thought. Just keep stroking that man’s disgusting ego.

 

“He looks capable, too.”

 

“He is. Stronger than any mortal man.” Danarius reached out and grabbed the elf’s arm. His ‘little wolf’ didn’t react when the magister traced the silver swirls with his thumb. “I couldn’t ask for a better bodyguard.”

 

Anders was sure his cheeks would soon start to hurt from forcing himself to smile all the time. “May I ask for his name?”

 

“Fenris.”

 

**The elf is singing** , Justice hummed and Anders’ features slipped for a mere second. He managed to school his expression before Danarius’ cold, unforgiving eyes met his once again.

 

_Singing?_

 

Not able to stop himself, Anders let his gaze travel up the elf’s body, from the wrist Danarius still held tightly in his hand to the elf’s chin, following the swirls. “Is that…?”

 

“Lyrium,” Danarius confirmed.

 

_Maker’s breath!_ Anders’ eyes widened in a mix of surprise and shock. “How…?” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat once again. “Who did this to him?”

 

The grin Danarius gave him was almost wolfish. “Fenris is my very own masterpiece.”

 

Lyrium. Embedded in someone’s skin. Raw lyrium, if Anders wasn’t mistaken, and yet the elf was breathing, standing up and very much alive. “How did he survive?”

 

“He was stronger than the others. Fenris surprised me, I have to admit.”

 

_The others…_

 

**This man is a monster** , Justice howled in his mind and Anders’ hands clutched at the armrests of his chair.

 

“I must admit your…work…is admirable. I have never seen or heard of anything like your elf before.”

 

It was brief but there. A flicker of disgust and rage flitting across the elf’s features, who stubbornly stared at his feet.

 

“Thank you,” Danarius said with a smile and Anders really wanted to get up and punch that man in the face.

 

_Think_ , Anders told himself. There had to be a way to separate Danarius from the elf, just a  moment long enough that allowed them to run and hopefully not having to face a maleficar in battle. Not that Anders truly worried that he wasn’t capable of taking that man down, but he wasn’t sure about Justice holding back and not taking the entire place apart. That elf was the slave of a magister, a _mage_ – anything drastic would probably make him cower in a corner instead of run.

 

“If I may, Serah…I couldn’t help but notice that you appear to be seeking some…entertainment for the night?”

 

“If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t be in a brothel, would I?” Danarius teased. Anders offered a nervous laugh.

 

“What I meant to say is, you seem to have settled for three of the whores in particular. You’ve been watching them for the past ten minutes.”

  
“Someone was watching _me_ as well, it seems.” There was an underlying warning in Danarius’ voice.

 

“Oh, please do not get me wrong,” Anders said apologetically. “Madam Lusine hires me regularly to look after her prostitutes. I ensure they are healthy. Naturally, I am generally concerned for my patients.”

 

Danarius’ brows furrowed. He released the elf’s wrist from his hold and leaned forward. “You are a healer?” he asked.

 

“I’m…a Spirit Healer…yes…”

 

“Interesting,” Danarius murmured and studied Anders’ face. “You are a rare jewel even among mages. But please, do continue.”

 

There was something unsettling about the look the magister was giving him and for a moment, Anders just wanted to get up and leave, without further attempts to free that impassive elf. What in the Void had he been thinking? He had enough on his hands as it was. But then he felt Fenris glance at him and for a second, their gazes met.

 

“If you are looking more male company tonight, Adriano is a very good choice,” Anders spoke up once again. “Not many can afford his services and Lusine keeps him like a jewel, only for the best of her customers.”

 

“And is he worth the coin spent on him?”

 

“Every single one. Because Adriano knows no limits and I have yet to hear him say no to whatever fantasy someone wishes to enact.”

 

Anders held back a sigh of relief when Danarius looked most _definitely_ intrigued by his words, his gaze drifting over to Adriano. He was behind Anders, so the mage couldn’t see him, but he could hear him talk to one of the customers. Discussing politics, strangely enough.

 

“He’s also well-mannered, well-spoken and very intelligent,” Anders added. “Adriano knows how to make a night _not_ boring, whichever pleasures you seek.”

 

Danarius hummed thoughtfully. Another wordless gesture at the servant who had remained by his side. It was only now that Anders noticed the other hadn’t returned yet. The servant nodded and strolled off. Hopefully to approach Adriano.

 

Another man Anders owed an apology, after tonight.

 

“Thank you,” Danarius said to Anders. He sounded sincere. “I feel I am in your debt, my friend. Not only have you prevented trouble for me, but you’ve helped me make a choice I believe I won’t regret.”

 

“It was a pleasure just speaking to you for a moment, Serah,” Anders replied meekly. “I am content to know I have been of help.”

 

“No, I must insist,” Danarius argued. “And I certainly wish to speak to you more about your…abilities. It has been decades since we’ve had a Spirit Healer in the Imperium. I have an incredible thirst for knowledge, you must know. You fascinate me, as does your connection to the world of the spirits.”

 

_It’s the only reason I wasn’t executed for escaping the Circle several times_ , Anders thought bitterly.

 

“I’ll be happy to tell you everything you want to know,” Anders forced out. Danarius requited his words with a brilliant smile and reached up to grab Fenris’ collar, forcing the elf to lean forward.

 

“You know, Fenris isn’t only excellent at being a warrior,” Danarius cooed. “And I have noticed the way you look at him. I wonder, could I please you by letting my little wolf pleasure _you_ tonight?”

 

“Pleasure…me?” Anders realized he was gaping. He had figured it would be enough to distract Danarius with one of the whores, get rid of his servants and make that elf run for his life. But this…

 

He felt sick.

 

**You are not considering the offer, are you?** Justice sounded enraged. Maybe Anders was, too. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell their minds apart, merged in too many places.

 

“You will do this for me, Fenris,” Danarius murmured.

 

Fenris snarled, unseen from the magister, but Anders noticed the way the elf’s lips curled. “Yes, master.”

 

A rich, deep voice. Husky. Surprisingly confident in tone. Not something Anders would have expected from a slave and he hated that it made him shiver in a too pleasant way.

 

“Will you accept my humble gift for tonight?” Danarius asked.

 

**Anders** , Justice said warningly.

 

“With pleasure, Serah.”


	2. Two

 

Whenever Anders came by to see to the prostitutes and provide healing if necessary, it was usually day. The Blooming Rose was empty then, all doors and windows wide open as the place got cleaned up, the air fresh and sunlight flooding the rooms and corridors.

 

At night, the dark and the thick air in the corridors were suffocating and the further Anders followed the magister and his slave, the more sick he felt. Justice raging in the back of his mind wasn’t helping and more than once, the Fade spirit threatened to take over. The energy it took to keep Justice at bay, explain to him that this _was_ , in fact, a good plan and would offer them more than enough time to get the elf away from his master, had Anders tire and add a sway to his steps now and then. Danarius took no notice of his inner turmoil but Anders could _feel_ Fenris’ eyes on him.

 

Lusine’s face spoke of disgust and disappointment when she led Danarius into Adriano’s room and it only added to Anders feeling terrible for even agreeing to this. He hoped his eyes would convey the message that she needed to trust him, that he wasn’t that kind of awful person. Lusine may employ elves in her establishment, but none of them were her ‘property’. They all had chosen this field of work to survive and were free to go any time. She often seemed cold as ice but Lusine had a good heart and Anders knew right now, that heart was weeping in her chest for Fenris and the man he belonged to.

 

And her eyes were shooting daggers at him.

 

The moment the door closed behind Danarius, Anders shot Lusine a pleading look. Her features softened and Anders knew she finally understood. She didn’t say anything as she opened the room next to the one Danarius and Adriano now occupied and gestured for them both to get in, but she did give him a small nod.

 

She would help him.

 

The relief only lasted moments. The moment the door closed behind him and Anders took in the sight of Fenris’ stiff compure, his own heart clenched in his chest. They had only gotten the easiest part covered.

 

The collar around Fenris’ neck worried Anders the most. Considering the elf had lyrium embedded in his skin, the collar around his neck certainly wasn’t made of regular steel and only a display of Danarius’ power. Fenris would have ripped it off by now; Anders had no doubt the elf’s physical strength had been enhanced greatly by the lyrium. No, that collar probably came with a magic binding, blood magic no doubt. Freeing Fenris was one thing, remove the visible evidence of his enslavement another.

 

“Master?”

Anders bristled at being addressed in such manner and offered the impassive elf a pained look.

 

“I would…ask what is expected of me tonight,” Fenris continued, the suppressed snarl visible on his face.

 

**You must stop** , Justice demanded and Anders bit his lip so he wouldn’t snap at the angered Fade spirit in front of the elf.

 

“That…collar you are wearing,” Anders said, keeping his voice calm and friendly, “is it magically sealed?”

 

Confusion flitted across the elf’s features at the question. Anders watched Fenris wiggle his toes against the wooden floor as the elf considered how, and _if_ , to answer.

 

Anders sighed. “I watched you. Your eyes kep scanning the room. You were looking for ways to escape, weren’t you?”

 

Confusion turned into panic. It was brief, terror making  the elf’s pupils dilate before he caught himself and schooled his expression. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

 

“You don’t? Then what was it that you were doing?” Anders asked, crossing his arms and offering the elf a challenging look.

 

“You are correct in your assumption that I was scanning the area,” Fenris answered dutifully. “Alas, it was not on my behalf. It is my duty to protect my master. In case of danger, I had to know which way offers the quickest and safes escape.”

 

“Danarius doesn’t seem to me like he’s defenseless.”

 

“He also doesn’t enjoy inconveniences.”

 

Anders’ lips twitched into a smile. “Listen, Fenris…you have nothing to worry about. And would you look at me?”

 

Immediately, moss green eyes lifted and Anders squirmed a little under their hard gaze now fixed on him.

 

“I want to help you,” Anders told him. “But in order to do that, I need to know two things.”

 

Fenris frowned at him. “And which two things would that be, I wonder?”

 

“ _Is_ your collar magically sealed? And…how fast can you run?”

 

The brief flicker of hope in the elf’s green eyes gave Anders hope, too. He could only imagine how much the thought of betraying the magister in such a way terrified the elf – not to mention the punishment he would have to except, should Anders’ plan fail.

 

It wouldn’t fail. _Maybe_ Anders would, but there was Justice. And Justice looked upon blood mages more poorly than Anders, knowing what sort of creature a mage would have to make a deal with in order to gain the desired powers. Demons were probably the one thing Justice despised more than all the injustice in the world.

 

Fenris’ stance relaxed. It was a good sign, Anders thought. “You are playing with fire, mage,” Fenris let him know.

 

“Doesn’t answer my questions,” Anders shot back with a smile. “Listen, we are running out of time. I don’t know if Adriano will truly entertain your master and how long it’s going to last. Do you want to get away or not?”

 

Green eyes narrowed at him. “Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why would you help me?” Fenris clarified. “What do you gain from this? Are you seeking to enrage a magister from Tevinter by stealing one of his possessions? Do you have a death wish?”

 

Anders’ eyebrows rose higher with each word. He imagined he looked quite condescending but he enjoyed that it didn’t make Fenris back away. Anders didn’t know a thing about Fenris, but the fire in the elf’s eyes he was familiar with.

 

“Because I know what it’s like,” Anders replied simply.

 

Fenris gave a mirthless chuckle and crossed his arms as well. “And you expect me to believe that?”

 

A shout was heard from the room next door, making both men flinch. Anders worried what exactly he had brought upon Adriano, if the prostitute was suffering. Someone who embedded lyrium into a living being’s skin certainly possessed a dark, sick mind.

 

**We must hurry** , Justice urged him.

 

“I don’t have time to discuss with you,” Anders told the elf. “Either you want my help, or you don’t.”

 

“And at what cost would your help come?” Fenris demanded to know.

 

Anders growled under his breath. “Blighted elf,” he swore and watched one of Fenris’ hands reach for the broad sword still strapped to the elf’s back. “I don’t want anything. _Yes_ or _no_?”

 

If Anders hadn’t felt the sudden shift of conscience and power inside him, the way his skin split open, Fenris’ face would have let him know that something was _not_ going the way it was supposed to.

 

“Justice—“ Anders croaked and that was all the Fade spirit inside him allowed before it took over and bereft him of all control and sense.

 

~*~

 

The back of his skull was throbbing so bad, for a moment, Anders feared someone had cracked it open. With a loud groan, he pressed both hands against it. The wall he was leaning against was wooden and the mouldy scent it carried was oddly familiar. Even though his eyes were closed, he saw stars dancing before them and figured it was only about to get worse as soon as he did open them to find out where he was.

 

The scent of elfroot and spindleweed mixed with the wall’s mouldy one. _Home_ , his brain supplied.

 

He was in his clinic.

 

Anders’ eyes snapped open and he regretted it instantly. His head was spinning and he felt sick. With a grunt, he carefully pressed just his fingertips against the back of his head and let healing magic flow into his skull, taking away the pain and discomfort. Slowly, the room stopped spinning. Anders licked across his dry lips and made a face at the metallic taste on them. Blood. Seemed like someone punched him properly.

 

“Fuck,” he cursed and glanced around. The clinic was a complete disaster. Cots had been thrown over, what little blankets he owned for the patients lay scattered across the floor. There were broken vials and sheets of paper piling next to his desk. And on said desk…

 

Anders’ eyes widened slowly and memories flooded his mind. On his desk perched the elf he’d planned to help escape his master. Fenris, his name was Fenris. He was leaning on his sword, the sharp end of the blade boring into the tabletop. And he was – glowing. His lyrium markings were alight and Anders could feel the lyrium’s power make his skin prickle uncomfortably. Green eyes spat fire at him.

 

Apparently, they had made it out of the Blooming Rose.

 

Obviously, things hadn’t quite gone according to plan.

 

“Damnit, Justice,” Anders murmured and scrambled to get back on his feet. Slowly but surely, it dawned on him what must have happened.

 

“Move another muscle and I will slay you were you stand, demon,” Fenris growled in that amazingly deep voice of his. It made chills run down Anders’ spine.

 

“Not…a demon…” Anders gritted out and leaned heavily against the wall behind him. Fenris snarled in response, his markings flaring brighter than before and Anders flinched.

 

“Listen…” he tried helplessly.

 

“I will not listen to a demon,” Fenris told him with disdain. “I’m not as foolish as you mages are.”

 

“This is a misunderstanding.”

 

“Is it? I know what I saw!” the elf barked and Anders really, really wished Fenris would lower his voice, because his head was still not ready for that volume of noise. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you were so eager to ‘free’ me.”

 

“We did free you,” Anders argued. “Begs the question why you are still here.”

 

Fenris blinked at him, his markings dying down.

 

“How long was I out?” Anders continued and carefully touched a hand to his sore nose. “I assume you punched me? You had the time and opportunity to leave and yet here you are, perched on my desk instead of running like you were supposed to be.”

 

“I –“  Again, Fenris snarled, more to himself than directed at Anders, who chose the opportunity to heal his nose, too.

 

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Anders asked calmly.

 

“He?”

 

“Justice. What you, uh…are calling ‘demon’.” Anders made a face. “And whom I’m going to have a very stern talk to in a moment,” he muttered. It was sort of hilarious that Justice was so blessedly quite inside his mind right now.

 

“ _Justice_?” Fenris scoffed. “That’s what you called it? How superior.”

 

“I didn’t call _it_ that, it’s his name. He’s a Fade spirit. Since you’ve lived among mages, I suppose you’ve heard of the various creatures of the Fade.”

 

The scorn distorting Fenris’ features softened and was replaced with – was that curiosity? Wonder?

 

  
“A Fade spirit.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you…let it possess you?”

 

Anders huffed. “I am not quite sure I’d call it possession but occasionally, it’s a fucking _pain in the_ _ass_.” That last bit was most certainly directed at Justice. There was a brief flutter just beneath his skin that told Anders Justice had heard him.

 

He let his gaze linger on the elf’s collar and Fenris scowled at him when he noticed.

 

“Can he find you with that thing?” Anders asked, more relaxed now that Fenris no longer looked like he was going to behead him any moment.

 

“And it won’t take him long either,” Fenris muttered in confirmation. Anders watched with fascination when the elf’s pointy ears drooped, making him look like a kicked puppy. He hadn’t known elven ears could do that kinda thing.

 

“I suppose that means I should try and get it off of you as soon as possible.”

 

“You will not come near me,” Fenris growled.

 

Anders sighed inwardly and massaged the bridge of his nose. _This is your fault, you idiot_ , he scolded Justice.

 

**The elf was wasting precious time with his continued questions and distrust** , Justice immediately argued. **It was best to show him that we are sincere**.

 

“Show him? You scared him!” Anders roared and pointed a finger at the elf, who immediately tensed. “Do you see that? It was _you_ who said to be subtle about this. Taking control over my body, grab the elf and march out of the Rose is _not_ subtle, Justice!”

 

**No one saw us. The madame made sure we’d leave without trouble**.

 

“Not the blighted point!”

 

“You’re arguing with it?” Fenris asked. He sounded curious, distracting Anders from his argument with a decidedly grumpy Fade spirit.

 

“Sometimes.” Anders sighed. “Listen, I am sorry he – we – scared you. I had meant to sneak you out and get you as far away as possible from Danarius, take care of that collar and have you get on your way to wherever you wanna go. You weren’t even supposed to know he’s in here.” He gestured at his body.

 

Fenris lifted one eyebrow and offered a skeptical look.

 

Anders dared taking another step toward the elf, one hand rubbing over his face. This was going to be a long night for the three of them.

 

  
“Are you hungry?”

****


	3. Three

Once the anger and feeling of helplessness had subsided and Fenris had the chance to take in his surroundings, it soon became clear that this stranger, who had claimed he wanted to help free him was – no ordinary man.

 

And certainly no ordinary mage.

 

Whatever had taken possession of the tall blond man and dragged Fenris across town swiftly, ignoring his growled protests - as much as Fenris was able to voice them, powerless in the creature’s grasp and stunned into immobility - _it_ had eventually stopped in this rotten place and announced they had reached their destination, for now. The cracks of blue splitting the blond man’s skin, the eerie glow Fenris was painfully familiar with, and the unwordly eyes had begun to dissipate. Fenris had seized the chance to free himself by hitting it in the face, sending a now unconscious mage stumbling backward before crashing into the nearest wall and sinking to the floor.

 

Distancing himself from the other man, Fenris had crouched and waited. Only when he was certain that the mage would be out for some time did he dare move. He had searched the clinic, checked every crate, every chest and every shelf for coin. He did not know much about freedom yet, but Fenris knew he wouldn’t get far without some money on him for food and necessary supplies.

 

His search had ended with him empty-handed and the suspicion that wherever the mage had brought him, this couldn’t _possibly_ be where he lived. The mage had nothing in his possession, no money, no valuable objects he could possibly sell – and Fenris would _not_ touch the staff hidden beneath what seemed to be the man’s bed - not even fine clothing. He refused to search the man’s pockets, not wanting to get near him.

 

This had to be a set-up, a hoax.

 

Fenris had run for the door and taken a look at the area surrounding the place. It was dark and dead silent around them. Shady figures crept through the night and the air was foul, making his stomach turn. He had no idea where he was or how to get away from here.

 

Then the mage had begun to mumble and twitch and Fenris had closed the door and decided to barricade on the creaky desk, angrily wiping off stacks of paper and three almost burned-down candles. He spared the quill and ink, not wanting to create an unnecessary mess and perched, sword ready in hand. Fenris would wait for that man, that monster, to wake up.

 

 

He was taken aback to find out that this place was indeed where the mage lived. The man, who had introduced himself as Anders, didn’t have to right-out say it. It was the way he easily knew his way around, lighting the fireplace and a few candles – including the ones Fenris had sent flying – and cleaning the mess the elf had created, that told Fenris Anders was familiar with the place. There was even a hiding place Fenris hadn’t found during his search that Anders obtained bread and fruit from. The bread was stale and the fruit had seen better days but it was food and Fenris was ravenous after three days of being denied his meals.

 

Fenris continued to keep a distance. Anders had put the food on the desk for him, all the while closely watched by the elf, who had retreated to near the front door, eyes vigilant. In return, Anders stayed away from the area near the desk and retreated to the room in the back. Hunger won over suspicion and Fenris sat at the desk and ate. Anders didn’t return for a while, but Fenris could hear him mutter and argue in the back room – probably with that thing he called ‘Justice’.

 

His stomach hurt once Fenris finished eating; it didn’t surprise him, after days of going without food and only enough water to keep him on his feet. One of the fastest ways to break even the most stubborn and rebellious mind was starvation. Danarius often used it as punishment. Fenris was no stranger to this, but after almost a year of regular meals and snacks whenever he’d wanted, it had been harder to endure than before.

 

When Anders finally emerged from the back room, he had lost his ridiculous coat with the feather pauldrons, and his boots. Padding across the dirty floor barefooted, only dressed in pants and a worn-thin tunic, the blond hair released from its tie and flowing down to his shoulders, he was scrubbing a dirty cloth over his face to remove the blood stains from when Fenris had punched him. Without his coat, the mage looked thinner, almost fragile, Fenris thought, not like someone who could easily grab him and drag him across an entire city.

 

Fenris glanced at what was left of the medium sized loaf of bread he’d been given and wondered if that was all the food in the mage’s possession.

 

“Where are we?”

 

Anders removed the cloth from his face and glanced at Fenris. He looked more exhausted than he had after waking from unconsciousness earlier. Or maybe it was just the light playing tricks on his eyes.

 

“Still in Kirkwall,” Anders replied. “Darktown district, to be exact. Not as cozy or flamboyant as Hightown, certainly, but it’s easy to hide down here along with the rest of the filth.”

 

Fenris huffed. “And this place?” He gestured around.

 

“It’s a clinic.” Anders shrugged. “And my home. I have to move it regularly, never staying long in one place. I think I have been in this particular spot for the longest period of time yet.”

 

Fenris bristled. “A _clinic_?” he hissed. “What kind of _clinic_?”

 

“A clinic,” the mage replied simply. “You know, a place to go to when you’re sick? And Kirkwall has a _lot_ of sick people. Most are Fereldans. They came to Kirkwall during the Blight, in hope to find a safe place and a new home. The majority has settled here in Darktown, unable to find work. Most hunger for days, some die of starvation. A lot of them get terribly sick.” Another shrug. “If that happens, or they just don’t know where to go, they come to me.” Chapped pink lips twitched into a smile. “People refer to me as Healer. I made this clinic a sanctum of healing. And salvation, I suppose.”

 

Fenris yet again took in the sight of the several empty cots, the shelf filled with vials and boxes. He could smell the various herbs and plants, something that had, admittedly, made him curious earlier already.

 

“And I suppose what little coin these poor people make goes right into your purse.”

 

“It’s a free clinic. I don’t take coin.”

 

Fenris scoffed. “Are you taking me for a fool?”

 

Anders’ lips pursed. “I don’t know. Did you perhaps search my clinic for money after you knocked me out?”

 

Fenris felt his ears twitch and scowled when he realized Anders didn’t miss that sign of nervousness. “Thought so. Because if you hadn’t then yes, I’d think you a fool. I assume you didn’t find any coin.”

 

“Well, I didn’t search your pockets,” Fenris snarled.

 

“You want to? Feel free.” Anders gestured toward the back room. “I assure you, you won’t find anything. I have nothing to hide.”

 

“Except yourself, it would seem.”

 

Anders’ eyes narrowed at him. “And what would make you think that?”

 

“Because I see no other reason why a mage would live under such terrible conditions. I wonder what it was you did.”

 

Blond eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know a lot about the world, do you? Not surprising, considering you have been kept on a leash like a dog.”

 

“Watch your mouth!” Fenris growled, though he instinctively regretted his angry words. While that strange man was not a magister – not from what Fenris had learned – and neither his master, he was still a mage and Fenris knew what torture mages could bring upon disobedient or defiant people.

 

Strangely enough, the mage seemed delighted, for he was smiling. “Look at you, eyes spitting fire and lips spilling venom,” Anders said around a chuckle. “You are certainly an interesting one. Never lose that fire, but feed it, Fenris. You’ll need it.”

 

Something about this mage made Fenris’ blood boil, though the elf wasn’t sure if he felt simply challenged, intrigued or if it was anger.

 

Or maybe it was the irony of his current situation – having escaped one mage to find himself in the company of another. Realizing so suddenly made him feel exhausted, his joints and muscles aching from countless days spent kneeling at his master’s feet or standing by his side, the chain attached to his collar weighing heavier than the sword strapped to his back.

 

Fenris reached up and touched his fingertips to the collar. He could feel the dark magic sealing it; it was the same magic pulsing through the lyrium that had been poured into his skin. Danarius’ magic, as familiar to him as the taste of his own blood.

 

“We still need to get that one off,” Anders spoke up and Fenris blinked, not noticing he’d gotten lost in thoughts.

 

“You will keep your distance,” he demanded.

 

“You do realize it’s kind of difficult to get it off of you without me taking a look at it, right?”

 

Fenris bit his lip.

 

“I mean, if you want to keep it, by all means, be my guest. But if what you said is true, then Danarius will find you in no time. Since he owns a mansion here in Kirkwall, I have no doubt he’s more familiar with the city than you are.”

 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Fenris growled.

 

Anders sighed loudly. “Listen…I am more than happy to help, you grumpy bastard, but even my patience is going to wear thin at some point. It was a long day, you punched me in the face and I’m very, _very_ tired. So, can you stop being a pain in the ass and let me have a look at it, at least? If I can’t get it off you, we’ll have to think of something else. _After_ a few hours of sleep, mind you.”

 

Sleep? Fenris felt a mild panic rise inside of him. Even though he was exhausted and had no doubt he’d be out within moments, should he dare lay his head down, he had not thought ahead. He was trapped in a place situated in the darkest part of a city that he was not familiar with; if he left the safety of the mage’s clinic – however safe it actually was – he wouldn’t know where to go and strolling around aimlessly meant Danarius would find him in no time. He looked too… _exotic_ to not be noticed. But the idea of sleeping here, with another mage who was, apparently, what mages called an _abomination_ , harboring an insane demon inside him that Fenris certainly did not trust…

 

If Anders did manage to get the collar off now, Fenris figured, he could take his leave and slip away into the night.

 

“No tricks,” he grunted out, one hand reaching for his sword. Anders looked at him in exasperation, but didn’t say anything about the underlying threat this posed. “And should your demon come out once again, mage, you’ll be relieved of your head.”

 

Anders snorted and took a few tentative steps toward him. Fenris kept perfectly still, hoping to convey that he was sincere about giving that mage a chance. He could see that Anders was wary when he finally stood in front of him and hesitantly reached out for the collar, but wariness soon gave way to a very concentrated look. Fingertips carefully glided across the cool metal and Anders made a face.

 

“Maleficar,” the mage grunted out in disgust. “Blighted blood magic, Maker, why won’t they just say _no_ to demons?”

 

“Not only an abomination but a hypocrite too, I see,” Fenris remarked.

 

Anders’ nostrils flared and it was the only warning Fenris got before he was yanked forward by the collar, his neck protesting against the rough treatment. His pulse quickened and he readily awaited whatever punishment the mage thought fit for his words.

 

“I am _not_ an abomination,” Anders said icily, “and neither did I make a deal with some demon. And should you even _think_ about accusing me of being a blood mage, it might be _you_ who will be relieved of his head tonight.”

 

Fenris gasped when he was released from Anders’ surprisingly strong grip and he reached up to rub his neck and throat.

 

“You’re one ungrateful little ass, aren’t you?” Anders asked tiredly. “Maybe I should return you to your kennel master.”

 

“ _No_!” Fenris hated how desperate he sounded, even to his own ears. “Please…”

 

“Your collar was sealed with blood magic. It’s also enchanted.” Anders took a step back and rolled his shoulders. “I’ll need to get help to have it removed. I suggest until then, you try and get some sleep.”

 

Fenris kept his head lowered, still unsure of what to expect, now that he had angered the mage.

 

Anders left him at the desk and Fenris dared to breathe. A minute later, a dusty pillow and a thin blanket were thrown at him.

 

“Take one of the cots,” Anders asked, no longer sounding angry. “And just so you know, should you consider to try and kill me while I sleep – Justice _never_ sleeps.”

 

Fenris’ brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure what more concerning, the mage’s demon or Danarius possibly finding him before dawn.

 

~*~

 

Fenris hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He had, in fact, been convinced he wouldn’t. For a long while, every little noise had him bolt upright and reach for his sword. He’d sit on the cot, in the semi-dark of the clinic illuminated only by the fireplace, and listened intently until whoever was passing the clinic was gone.

 

Exhaustion must have won over, Fenris figured, groggily opening his eyes. The last time he’d slept lying down seemed so long ago and his body was grateful that it did not have to spend another night on the knees, at the foot of Danarius’ bed.

 

It was still dark inside the clinic but there were hushed whispers and a child whimpering in distress. Intent on not giving any indication that he was awake and alert, Fenris kept still beneath the thin blanket and just gazed ahead.

 

He recognized Anders’ silhouette. The mage was leaning over one of the cots near the entrance. There was another person with him, a woman. The voice whispering replies to Anders’ questions was most definitely female. On the cot, Fenris made out a smaller body. A child indeed, shivering as the mage seemed to examine her carefully.

 

“How long has she been this feverish?” Fenris heard Anders ask.

 

“It was a mere cough until we went to bed,” the woman replied. She sounded scared. “My boy woke me when Sina became restless. She wouldn’t respond to me.”

 

Anders hummed in response and Fenris watched him stroke over the child’s head. It was a tender gesture that surprised the elf.

 

“I am so sorry for bothering you in the middle of the night,” the child’s mother said. “I know we can only come when the lantern is lit, but I…”

 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. Sina is very sick.”

 

Fenris watched Anders leave the distressed child and its mother to retrieve something from the shelf that was near the cot Fenris had chosen for the night. It was in safe distance from the clinic’s door and near the back room the mage used, so Fenris was able to keep an eye on both. The mage shuffled past him, not even glancing at the elf. His entire composure spoke of how tired Anders was and how very much he had needed his sleep _not_ interrupted.

 

Fenris remembered one time where one of Danarius’ young apprentices had woken his master in the middle of the night; so naïve and excited over a discovery he had made, that he had wanted to show Danarius immediately. He had paid with his life for his, as Danarius said, ‘audacity’.

 

Fenris had taken the apprentice’s life. The young boy had had that excited expression on his face still, even as his lifeless body had sunk to the floor after Fenris had snapped his spine in one quick movement.

 

Again, Anders shuffled past him, carrying three vials in one hand while rubbing over his tired face with the other. Just before he reached the little girl on the cot, he grabbed the blanket from the cot next to hers and handed it to the mother.

 

“I’ll give her a potion now,” Anders explained. “The fever should go down within the next hour.”

 

“Thank you, Healer,” the woman said while wrapping the blanket around herself.

 

“Don’t thank me yet,” the mage admonished gently.

 

 

Fenris thought it was safe enough. The woman probably hadn’t even noticed him, hidden in the dark, or thought him just another of the mage’s patients and of no interest while she sat watch by her ill child’s side. The elf allowed his eyes to slip closed, his head resting heavily on the pillow.

 

He felt Anders come closer and lean down; his hands balled into fists beneath the blanket, ready to remind the mage that he only had permission to get close to examine his collar earlier and that permission came with no extension.

 

“Fenris,” Anders whispered. “I know you’re awake. Maybe you want to retreat to the room in the back. This here is…going to take a while.”

 

Moss green eyes snapped open to regard the mage’s face. He looked…sincere.

  
“What about you?” Fenris asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to attract the woman’s attention, threat or no.

 

Anders smiled, tired and with his guard down. Not at all like the man he’d made angry earlier.

 

“No rest for the wicked or the possessed.”


	4. Four

Anders was a man of many faces.

 

The previous evening, Fenris met the Anders who was more brave than was probably healthy, offering help to complete strangers and challenging a magister from Tevinter over the life of an elf, who wasn’t even worth the dirt beneath Danarius’ shoes. He met the witty, occasionally snarky Anders who was quick to anger, if one chose their words ill and who, apparently, harbored as much hate for maleficar as Fenris did. He had met the possessed Anders, or rather, whatever _it_ truly was that possessed had mage, because Fenris had troubles believing that the angry creature that had grabbed and taken him away from the brothel was merely a Fade spirit. He had heard of Spirit Healers before and their affinity to the Fade and its denizens, but Fenris had never heard of Fade spirits taking such great interest in a mortal being that they would want to possess them. Either the mage had lied – or there was more to this story than was obvious.

 

Fenris had met the gentle, caring Anders, who had not minded being woken up after barely an hour or two of sleep, battling exhaustion until sunrise to keep watch over a sick child and comforting her mother. He still remembered the soft expression the mage’s face when he’d offered the back room to Fenris, so the elf would be able to contiue to sleep without further interruptions. It had left the elf curious about the mage and his intentions.

 

As he was following the taller man through the narrow alleys of Darktown, he learned about the mage’s very closed off side. Fenris had first thought that lack of sleep made Anders withdrawn and unwilling to answer any questions the elf might have, or maybe he was already tiring of Fenris’ prolonged company. Instead, Anders seemed strained to remain neutral, friendly even, whenever he actually spoke to Fenris, but the invisible walls were palpable.

 

Fenris’ attention was constantly divided between trying to figure out the mage and keeping an eye on his surroundings, looking for Danarius’ men or people the magister would likely hire to get him back. Darktown was filled to the brink with shady figures, yet many surprised Fenris by greeting the ‘Healer’ and offering kind words.

 

Anders had found a cloak for Fenris. It was too big, but it covered his body – and the sword once again strapped to his back – nicely, the hood pulled down far enough to hide his white hair and his face. He felt strangely safe with it, even more so because no one paid attention to him – or quickly stepped aside, intimidated by his appearance, which was also fine with the elf. Anders wasn’t wearing a clock, but he had wrapped his staff in one before strapping it on his back. Fenris doubted that anyone would be fooled by this.

 

“You told Danarius you’re from the Anderfels,” Fenris spoke up, once again trying to engage the mage in a conversation.

 

“I did?” Anders shrugged. “I guess.”

 

“So it is not true?”

 

Anders frowned. “What does it matter?”

 

“Nothing, I suppose,” Fenris concurred, already admitting defeat for about the fifth time this early noon. “Have I done something to anger you?”

 

Anders slowed his steps and Fenris eyed the strange shaft they were approaching. “You mean apart from calling me abomination and a hypocrite?” the mage asked nonchalant. “Not yet, but the day’s young!”

 

Fenris scowled at the blond. “If I remember correctly you made sure I knew my place after calling you these things,” he snarled.

 

“I wasn’t putting you in your place. I got angry and lost control. For that, I apologize.”

 

Fenris felt his face fall while Anders stepped into the shaft and glanced up. The elf had expected many things, but certainly not an apology for the rough treatment. It was…intriguing.

 

“It still wasn’t very nice of you,” Anders added as an afterthought. “And I’m so very tired of hearing this shit, so…for as long as the two of us are sort of stuck together, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me terrible names.”

 

Fenris cleared his throat and glanced at his feet, toes wiggling in the dirt on the street. Anders did have a point – not to mention that this man was currently risking his life for him. “I suppose I should…apologize for my poor choice of words as well, mage.”

 

“I also don’t like false apologies.”

 

The elf’s hands balled into fists and he barely managed to stop himself from growling. He watched Anders lean against the wall heavily, pushing against it with his shoulder. To Fenris’ surprise, a narrow door opened to reveal a passage and a long staircase.

 

“On we go!” Anders announced and entered the passage. Fenris glanced around quickly before following the mage, closing the door behind them.

 

“Where are we going?” Fenris asked, hoping Anders would at least let him in on whatever plan he had.

 

“Lowtown. I’m looking for someone who might be able to help, but I need to know _where_ to find him, first, so we’re paying Lirene a visit.”

 

“Lirene?”

 

“She owns a shop in Lowtown. She also helps the Fereldan refugees where she can because no one else will, except for me. She helped me build up the clinic and makes sure I won’t be bothered by people or worse, Templars, snooping around too much,.”

 

“Why would the Templars concern you?” Fenris asked, confused.

 

Anders stopped walking and spun around, making Fenris flinch in surprise. “This isn’t Tevinter, Fenris,” the mage told him flatly. “Mages are not the superior race. We don’t reign the Free Marches, or any other country in Thedas. We are locked away in Circle Towers, or made Tranquil, or, preferably, killed on sight. We aren’t the people who hold the powers in Thedas, we’re the _monsters_ no one wants in their midst. The Chantry trains Templars to keep us on a leash. And that is one of the nicest things they do.”

 

Fenris was staring, momentarily unable to react in any other way. He also didn’t like the way Anders was towering over him, though the man could hardly help it, seeing as he was most definitely taller than the elf. Actually, he was ridiculously tall. Maybe the tallest human Fenris had met yet.

 

Now, Qunari were a different matter entirely.

 

“If that is indeed the case, it would mean –“

 

“ – that I’m an apostate, yes. You asked me last night what I did, that I see need to hide in a run-down place near the sewers. Well, here’s the short and simple answer: I was _born_ and the Chantry took offense in the fact.” Anders sighed, shoulders slumping. “And that really is all you need to know. Now come on, I don’t want to spend all day in this vile passage.”

 

 

The passage seemed endless and very soon, Fenris had the uncomfortable feeling of the walls closing in on him. He had never liked confined spaces much and he soon realized Anders was no different, if the way the mage tensed more and more with each passing minute or his quickening pace, was any indication. They were silent for a long time, Fenris shuffling after the man and wondering if it was really wise to trust him. Maybe Anders’ true plans were to demand a ransom from Danarius, in exchange for Fenris? After all, his living conditions weren’t the best and he was obviously poor as a Chantry mouse. In Tevinter, he most likely had a better future ahead and Danarius would be _thrilled_ to not only have a Spirit Healer as his apprentice, but a _possessed_ Spirit Healer harboring a Fade spirit, if the mage had indeed told the truth.

 

After a while, Fenris’ knees were protesting from the way too many stairs, no matter how flat they were and he was grunting as continued to follow Anders. There was the ghost of a smile on Anders’ face at the sounds. Fenris usually didn’t mind such workout. In fact, it needed a lot more to tire him out or make him sore. Sleeping in something akin to a bed had helped to relax his body, but it yet had to overcome the strain the previous nights had put on it.

 

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” Fenris muttered. The air was starting to clear, which had to mean they were nearing the passage’s exit.

 

“For what?” Anders asked, taking two stairs at once now.

 

“Freeing me. Feeding me and offering me a bed for the night,” the elf clarified. “For wanting to help with the collar.” He paused. “But I cannot claim I trust you, mage.”

 

“I didn’t expect you to,” the blond waved him off and Fenris gritted his teeth. He had the urge to grab Anders and push him head first into the wall, just so he’d stop being so – unaffected and distant. The angry man from last night had been more _real_ than the man he was facing now. Anger was something Fenris understood and could deal with – impassiveness was not.

 

“Are you not worried?” Fenris asked grumpily.

  
“About what?”

 

The passage finally ended. Fenris glanced left and right. It was noticeably more bright here than it was in Darktown and the air didn’t smell quite as foul. Strangely enough, though, the scent of death lingered in these streets. Fenris couldn’t name the scent but it made him more vigilant than he already was.

 

“Do you have any idea what Danarius will do to you for ‘stealing’ his prized slave, as he usually calls me? Do you have any idea about the fortune in lyrium that is infused in my skin?”

 

Anders paused and regarded Fenris for a long moment. He frowned at the elf’s naked feet and the swirls of lyrium even found there, stretching up to his toes. “Is this…covering all of your body?” Anders asked, lips pursed.

 

“Yes.”

 

The mage looked sick at the idea, though there was also something else in his gaze – pity? Understanding? Fenris wasn’t sure. He was good at reading body language, but emotions were often a mystery to him. “Maker, that must have hurt,” Anders said compassionately.

 

Fenris chose not to answer. He could have lied and said he didn’t remember much of the procedure that gave him his markings; though it wasn’t an out and out lie. The truth was, all he remembered was the pain. The agonizing, never-ending pain. His body shaking with fever, his pained screams and the harsh sobs that left his throat raw and his vocal chords permanently damaged in the end.

 

And it wasn’t Anders’ business.

 

“This way,” Anders prompted and again, Fenris followed.

 

The streets were broader in what Fenris assumed had to be the Lowntown district. They passed shabby merchant stalls and Fenris was surprised to not only spot dwarves trying to sell their goods, but elves lingering on the streets or checking the offered wares. Most of them looked poor and haggard; some were dressed a little better, carrying around heavy purses. Probably working as servants for nobles, Fenris thought. It was a common thing in Tevinter as well.

 

“Lowtown has an Elven alienage,” Anders said as if sensing Fenris’ astonishment. “Would you like to visit it later?”

 

“And just what exactly would I do there?” Fenris asked.

 

“I don’t know…be with people of your kin? Once we get the collar off you, you might feel comfortable staying with other elves until you know where to go?”

 

“They are not my kin,” Fenris grunted out. Ahead of him, Anders shrugged and continued to steadily stride toward a dead end. Just seeing the dead end made Fenris uneasy, even more so when we spotted a sign on the wall. He couldn’t read what it said, but he was suspicious. Where exactly was that mage taking him?

 

“Lirene’s shop,” Anders announced and pushed a narrow door open that Fenris hadn’t noticed before. “Come on in. Don’t worry, it’s safe.”

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the mage. Anders just stared back, his face telling the elf that he was too tired and lacked patience to argue with him now. Fenris wordlessly slipped into the shop, surprised at the amount of people found inside and waited until Anders had closed the door. The mage gave him a gentle push and with a snarl, Fenris shuffled toward the counter and the scowling, dark-haired woman behind it.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman greeted them, giving Anders a stern look. “Didn’t you hear that the Templars are patrolling more frequently today? Apparently, the _people_ they had brought here from Starkhaven managed to escape.” Fenris noticed she was keeping her voice low, while Anders leaned over the counter, a smile on his face.

 

“Did they now? That is good news,” Anders retorted, smile widening. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair in a moment, Lirene. I need your help.”

 

So that was the ‘friend’ the mage had mentioned. Face still hidden beneath the hood, Fenris studied her curiously.

 

“Are you in trouble?” Lirene asked. “And who is this?” She nodded her head at Fenris.

 

“Someone who is definitely in trouble. I’ll do my best to stay out of said trouble.”

 

Lirene rolled her eyes. “What do you need?”

 

“Remember that dwarf I told you about? The one who came to my clinic a little over a week ago, with that other man in tow who wanted the maps to the Deep Roads?”

 

Fenris’ ears pricked beneath his cloak. What would a mage need a map to the Deep Roads for?

 

“I remember,” Lirene confirmed. “What about him?”

 

“Any idea where I can find him?”

 

Her eyebrows rose. “Why? Did you decide after all that you’re going to hand these maps over?”

 

“No. You said he’s a merchant and business man and someone who meddles in pretty much anyone’s affairs. Someone with connections.”

 

“Anders…”

 

The mage leaned closer to her. “Lirene, this is important. It’s not about me, okay? Do you know where I can find him or not?”

 

She sighed. Fenris thought Lirene seemed particularly fond of Anders – and worried, judging by the frown on her face. His mind was still trying to make sense of the information about the maps, a meddling dwarf and a _man_. It felt like Anders was pointedly not describing said ‘man’ further – and he’d said that word with disdain. Whoever that man was, he was not the mage’s favorite person in the world.

 

“His name is Varric Tethras,” Lirene eventually answered. “And from what I hear, he can be found at the Hanged Man.”

 

Anders’ face brightened. “That was the name! I remember now.” He winked at Lirene. “Thank you.”

 

Lirene rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture with her hands. A strong hand gripped Fenris’ shoulder and he flinched in surprise when Anders pulled him along. He stumbled and angrily pulled his shoulder free, shooting the mage a glare.

 

“I am capable of walking by myself,” he growled.

 

“I’m aware, but you seemed distracted,” Anders grunted out and once again opened the door for the elf. “Left,” he instructed, while Fenris squinted. They had only been inside the shop but a moment, but the daylight was harsh on his eyes.

 

Once outside, he turned left, taking the lead this time. Anders strolled after him, more relaxed in Lowtown’s much sunnier atmosphere. Fenris, for his part, once again scanned the area for anything suspicious. He was surprised Danarius wasn’t short of burning down the city yet, only to get him back. A chill ran down his spine when he recalled the events on Seheron.

 

“Why are we looking for this particular dwarf?” Fenris asked quietly.

 

“Well, as I said, your collar is enchanted. A lot of dwarfs are good with enchantments. I am hoping he knows someone who can help,” Anders replied in kind.

 

“You also said it was sealed with blood magic.”

 

“I am hoping we won’t need blood magic to get that thing off you.” Anders made a face at the thought. “The last thing I want is needing to find a maleficar and ask them for help.”

 

Fenris huffed and shuffled his feet. “I concur."

 

 

~*~

 

The Hanged Man was – not what Fenris had expected. He had believed they were about to enter a place where thugs gathered, thus the name. Or go aboard a ship. Ships often had ridiculous names.

 

Instead, he found himself in front of a tavern, which had obviously gotten its name from the…interesting decoration on the outside. Fenris eyed it with disgust.

 

His disgust rose once they were inside. The place was packed to the brim with humans, most of them drunk beyond hope and it was still early. Several people turned their head as they entered and Fenris felt the need to make himself small in his cloak. As they pushed their way through the crowd, Anders’ face mirroring the disgust Fenris felt, a few people raised their mug or waved at Anders. A lot of people had done the same on the streets and it made Fenris worried. If the entire city knew who Anders was, Danarius would find them in no time. People were corrupt; everyone had a prize and Danarius was _generous_ and he always succeeded.

 

Well, not always. He had failed once. But so had Fenris, in the end.

 

“Healer!” one of the bartenders called and for a moment, Anders looked caught. His features relaxed when he, apparently, recognized the man waving at him with a grin. As they neared the bar, Fenris studied the bartender. His face looked sunken, his dirty blond hair complimenting the ashen color of his face. It was obvious he’d had a few drinks already and it was only noon.

 

“Corff,” Anders greeted as he leaned against the bar. “I am looking for Varric Tethras.”

 

Corff lazily pointed his thumb toward a staircase in the far back of the tavern. “Upstairs, my friend. I’d watch it, though. Hear the guy’s real trouble.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Anders retorted. “I am about to cause him some trouble. Is he alone?”

 

“As far as I know.”

 

Anders nodded and gestured for Fenris to follow him. Someone inside the tavern was loudly complaining about ‘knife ears’ and Fenris bristled when another endorsed whatever allegations the first one had voiced. Next to him, Anders huffed in annoyance and glared across his shoulder.

 

“Just ignore them,” the mage murmured, barely loud enough for Fenris to hear. “They’re idiots, especially when they are drunk.”

 

A third voice joined the other two, boasting loudly about that ‘one time where he repeatedly fucked a pretty young elven girl’ and Fenris found himself torn between throwing up and turning around to teach that man some manners. He ended up most definitely deciding against the latter – not only would it give him away and ensure that Danarius would swiftly hear where to find him, he also didn’t want Anders to know what else his lyrium markings enabled him to do.

 

“It is nothing new that humans see us elves as lesser beings,” Fenris muttered as they ascended the staircase together. “But we certainly are _pretty_ enough when it comes to fulfilling certain needs.”

 

Anders offered a hapless smile. “Funny, former friend of mine once said the same.”

 

 

Once they had reached the top of the staircase, both men stood indecisively in front of a closed door. Anders seemed to think they had found the correct room right away and it took Fenris a moment to spot the symbol carved into the bronze door knob.

 

Fenris waited for the mage to knock, but Anders suddenly seemed hesitant, which made no sense if one considered how determined he had been on their entire way to this place. Fenris wondered who this Varric Tethras was and what had happened the first time the mage had met that mysterious dwarf; he also wondered if Anders was having second thoughts now about helping him.

 

“Are you not going to knock?” the elf scoffed.

 

Anders shot him a glare and Fenris fought the instinct to flinch or lower his head in a submissive manner.

 

“I had kind of hoped I’d never have to see that guy again,” Anders admitted, eyes going soft.

 

“Did he…cause you harm?”

 

“That little guy?” Anders snorted. “No. It’s uh…a little complicated.”

 

“I have seen dwarves on our way here. Why don’t we ask one of them if this Tethras guy is making you uncomfortable?” Fenris asked.

 

The door opened suddenly swung open, making them both flinch in surprise. Fenris’ gaze dropped to the – surprisingly – beardless dwarf grinning broadly at them. The second thing apart from the hairless face – though the tiny man’s chest hair surely made up for the lack of beard – Fenris noticed were golden chain necklace and the thick golden earrings. That man certainly seemed to have a rather flamboyant personality.

 

The enormous crossbow aimed at them was – concerning, to say the least.

 

“I believe I can answer your question, cloak monster,” the dwarf replied, amused, lowering his crossbow. “Because Blondie _knows_ I’m the guy to come to if you’ve seriously fucked up and need help.”

 

“Tethras,” Anders greeted the dwarf with a look of annoyance.

 

Varric Tethras gave a mock bow and gestured for them to come in. “Nice seeing you again, Blondie. Can I offer you a drink? Something tells me this is going to take longer than two minutes and is not something to be discussed where the walls have ears.”


	5. Five

Anders eyed the ale-filled mug with disgust. He knew Justice was doing the same; the brew Corff served at the Hanged Man should be declared illegal in Anders’ opinion. Justice generally disliked it when Anders drank. And Maker, he had some great times while drunk. He missed it, sometimes.

 

“So, how are you doing?” Varric asked politely as he leaned back in his armchair. It was way too big for such a tiny man and he looked ridiculous in it. “Last time I saw you, you weren’t exactly having the time of your life, eh?”

 

“Don’t,” Anders said warningly. Despite his face covered effectively by the hood, Anders could feel Fenris’ imploring gaze on him.

 

“Sensitive subject?”

 

“What was your first guess?”

 

Varric chuckled and offered the two of them another broad grin. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Blondie? Did you change your mind about the Deep Roads expedition? Hawke will be thrilled to hear.”

 

**The Deep Roads are dangerous,** Justice murmured. **It would be just to accompany them and keep them safe**.

 

“Oh, shut up, Justice,” Anders grunted out. “There’s nothing _just_ about helping a handful idiots with a death wish to satisfy their greed.”

 

Again, Varric chuckled and Anders squirmed under Fenris’ questioning gaze. “I see your, uh… _friend_ and you are not of the same mind on the matter.”

 

“We are familiar with the Deep Roads and their dangers. Naturally, he thinks offering protection is the right thing to do. I, personally, do not see why I should risk _my_ ass just so you and Hawke, and whoever else is tagging along on this suicide mission of yours, can fill your pockets with gold or whatever it is you hope to find.”

 

“Fair enough,” Varric agreed. “So, why are you here?”

 

Anders watched Fenris reach for his mug and take a tentative sip. The disgusted growl that followed made him smile. “My companion here requires help. I am looking for someone who is adept with enchantments.”

 

“I can speak for myself,” Fenris muttered.

 

“You could,” Anders agreed. “You can also reveal your face and let everyone know who you are, where you are and have _someone’s_ henchmen track us both down and kill us. Just for the record, that would ruin my week, so maybe you just keep your mouth shut?”

 

“I take it Serah In-A-Cloak and you aren’t the best of friends?” Varric laughed when Fenris growled in response. “Let’s say I know of someone who can help…what’s in it for me?”

 

Anders’ eyes narrowed at the smirking dwarf. “The knowledge that you have saved someone from a very terrible life? Have you done a good deed this year yet?”

 

“I do a lot of good deeds, Blondie.” Varric leaned back further in his seat. “You’d be surprised what a decent man I am. But, I am also a business man and you still kind of owe me for that uh… _situation_ you got us into a couple days ago.”

 

“I don’t owe you a blighted thing,” Anders spat. “And that the situation got out of hand was not my fault.”

 

“No, this is true,” the dwarf agreed. Anders wanted to slap the pitying expression out of his face. “I never got the chance to tell you I am sorry for your loss.”

 

“What is he talking about?” Fenris asked quietly and Anders felt his fingers twitch. Despite his strong dislike for Corff’s ale, he grabbed the mug, ignored Justice’s protests and downed the brew in one go. Varric whistled, impressed, while Anders fought to keep it down. Was it just him or had the ale gotten even worse?

 

“Nothing,” Anders forced out and stood. “Let’s go, _Serah In-A-Cloak_. We’ll try your plan, since this particular dwarf doesn’t want to help.”

 

“Now, now, I didn’t say that,” Varric argued. “Got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

 

Fenris moved so fast, Anders’ head spun just from watching. The elf jumped to his feet quickly, shedding the oversized cloak in one fluid motion before darting forward, across the dwarf’s table and gripping Varric by his collar. Anders realized he was gaping when the elf lit up as bright as the full moon at nights and snarled at the positively overwhelmed dwarf.

 

Varric’s hand twitched, ready to reach for his crossbow. Fenris gave a warning growl and the dwarf stilled. “If you even dare lift a finger, I’ll end you,” Fenris threatened. “I have no patience for silly games, dwarf. The mage asked you a question and you’d do well to simply answer and give us a name.”

 

Fenris was – terrifying. Anders hadn’t stopped once to think about the situation at his clinic, after he’d regained consciousness. His attention was focused on the markings and the many questions he suddenly found he had about them. He also felt somewhat drunk and knew it was not from the disgusting ale. It was the lyrium. He could hear it sing, could feel the powers of the Fade radiating from the elf’s lithe body. He felt Justice wanting to reach out, a sway in their steps as Anders forced himself to step away from, and not toward, the elf, his hands clawing at the dwarf’s desk as he tried to ground himself.

 

Varric recovered from his surprise and Anders watched Fenris look at the dwarf with disdain when Varric grinned. “Well, Andraste fuck me,” the dwarf said around a laugh. “ _You_ stole the magister’s elf? I’m impressed, Blondie.”

 

Fenris jumped on the table and knelt, the grip of his hand not faltering. “What do you know?” he asked.

 

“Only that someone took away a Tevinter magister’s favorite toy. He’s promising a generous reward to the person who finds you and brings you back alive. Is that _lyrium_?”

 

The elf scowled and Anders, finally having adapted to the effects the elf’s lyrium had on him, shook his head. “That man is a pig and this elf is a slave,” he told Varric. “That collar he wears is enchanted and it needs to come off, else that magister will always be able to find him.”

 

Varric lifted his head enough to glance at the collar in question. “I see.”

 

“I couldn’t save Karl,” Anders murmured. “But, I’m going to save _him_ , so, can you _please_ stop being an ass and just tell me whom to look for?”

 

“Optionally, if you want to live another day, you’ll start talking,” Fenris added with a low growl.

 

Varric sighed loudly and gestured at Fenris. “Alright, _alright_ …stop the glowing thing, elf, you’re as bad as Blondie. And _you_ , Blondie, did you really have to go ahead and stab me in the heart with that kicked puppy face, talking about your late lover? Andraste’s tits, you two certainly compliment each other.”

 

Anders felt Fenris side-glancing at him, because he refused to look at the angrily glowing elf. Fenris relaxed and released the dwarf from his hold, but remained on the table.

 

“I said _don’t_ ,” Anders said, subdued, willing away the images suddenly flooding his mind, images he wished wouldn’t exist. He knew he shouldn’t fight them, that he had to cope with them eventually, but now was not the the time.

 

Especially not in front of two complete strangers.

 

“Where will we find the person who can help?” Fenris asked.

 

“Ah, I suppose I will show you the way,” Varric offered. “I have business to tend to anyway and my brother’s been waiting for an update on our progress.”

 

Anders made a face. “We’re not going to Hightown.”

 

 

~*~

 

They did go to Hightown and Anders was reminded why he hated this place during the day. The streets were crowded with nobles looking at him in disdain as they followed Varric, Fenris once again hiding beneath his enormous cloak and decidedly more tense.

 

Lowtown or Darktown residents were not welcome in this part of Kirkwall. Tolerated, sometimes, especially if they were merchants, or a noble’s servant, running errands for their master. Anders had long but gotten used to the looks he received, his clothing revealing that he was poor. The looks had lessened only because quite a lot of nobles had needed his services since coming to Kirkwall a year ago; they knew Anders could talk, so they simply opted to overlook his presence by now. A grateful look or smile was seldom.

 

Today, they were irritated by his cloaked company.

 

Fenris stopped walking only a few feet away from Hightown market, his posture defensive, like he expected to be struck down any moment. Anders came to a halt next to the elf; if Varric noticed they had stopped following him, he didn’t let on, simply strolling toward the market and disappearing into the crowd.

 

“What is it?” Anders murmured.

 

“This is it,” Fenris replied in kind. “I am not too familiar with the city, but I’d recognize this place every time.”

 

“What place?”

 

A barely noticeable nod of Fenris’ head to the right. Anders glanced at the building towering over them. He’d noticed it before, mostly because it looked surprisingly abandoned for a mansion in Hightown, and in the heart of the city, too. A lot of places in Hightown had been abandoned, surprisingly, their owners having moved on to another part of Thedas, or died, leaving no ancestors. Only if the state of the building became painfully obvious, a rotten tooth among the healthy ones, would nobility make sure they were taken care of, at least from the outside.

 

“Danarius mansion,” Fenris whispered.

 

“Keep walking,” Anders told him. “We best stay as far away from this place as possible.”

 

Fenris hummed in agreement and hurried toward the crowd that had gathered on the market.

 

 

Finding Varric wasn’t too difficult. Bartrand stayed in the same spot, always surrounded by the same people who had already been hired to come along to the Deep Road expedition. Unlike Varric’s subtle, convincing nature, Bartrand was more blunt and obnoxiously loud, trying to attract wealthy people and make them invest in the expedition with the promise of being rewarded tenfold with the treasures he was – apparently – convinced to find in the Deep Roads.

 

Anders had seen plenty of the Deep Roads and he could not recall any actual treasures. The one or ther relic, maybe. Coin a deceased still had in their purse when they’d me twith their pitiful end; usually as fodder for the Darkspawn, if one could believe the people who were the most familiar with the Deep Roads and their residents. The mage felt his chest tighten as he found himself briefly lost in memories of a time in his life he still didn’t know if it had been good or bad. The end had been bad, certainly.

 

“What was the dwarf talking about?” Fenris asked, distracting Anders from more unwanted memories. They kept a safe distance to Varric, who was arguing with his quick-tempered brother.

 

“Which part?” Anders asked bitterly.

 

“That…lover, of yours. If I understood correctly, she died?”

 

“ _He_ ,” Anders corrected automatically, bracing himself for the disgusted looks and too personal questions that often followed.

 

“He,” Fenris echoed, still keeping his voice low. “Varric made it sound like there…was some trouble.”

 

Anders glanced curiously at the elf, who did not seem deterred by the fact that the mage had a male lover. He couldn’t see Fenris’ face, but he certainly heard the huff. “It is frowned upon in Tevinter, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening,” Fenris said. “I know it is different in most parts of Thedas. Probably one of the reasons why Danarius enjoys travelling so much. He can openly indulge in pleasures he’d have to keep behind closed doors at home. I know better than to judge. It is not my business.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Anders agreed and left it at that. There was no use in telling this elf any of his secrets. As soon as the collar was off, Fenris would be gone. It wasn’t like they had any reason to get _acquainted_.

 

“Then I apologize for asking,” Fenris replied easily.

 

 

Varric chose that moment to rejoin. He looked positively annoyed, much like Bartrand looked ready to scream his head off. “One of these days…” Varric muttered and sighed heavily. “Alright, you two follow me.”

 

Varric led them to a stall just across from where Bartrand’s was. Anders was not surprised it belong to yet another dwarf. Two dwarfs, actually. One seemed still rather young, a naïve expression on his face.

 

“Bodahn!” Varric greeted the older of the two dwarfs, who had just sold some strange looking object to a noble.

 

“Messere Tethras!” the dwarf named Bodahn eagerly returned the greeting. “Are we ready to leave for the Deep Roads?”

 

Varric barked out a laugh and shook his head. “No, my friend. But soon. Good morning, Sandal!”

 

“Enchantment!” the naïve-looking younger dwarf called with a simple-minded smile on his lips.

 

“That’s right, boy,” Varric agreed with a nod. “We are indeed here for some enchantment today.”

 

“Oh, the boy is so talented with enchantments,” Bodahn explained easily, pulling the younger man close. “It’s been a while since he was asked to craft something. How may we help you?”

 

Varric gestured for Anders and Fenris to step forward. Fenris was reluctant and chose to remain behind Anders as the mage stepped closer. “We are not looking to have something enchanted,” Anders explained quietly, keeping his voice so low that Bodahn had to lean forward to hear him. “We need something that has been enchanted removed.”

 

Bodahn nodded and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “And I suppose you would not like to do this in public, Messere?”

 

“At least not in Hightown.”

 

Again, Bodahn nodded and leaned in further. “You are the Healer, aren’t you? I believe you patched up a fellow merchant of mine after he was beaten up by Athenril’s men.”

 

Anders thought for a moment. There had been something… “I…think I remember. A few stab wounds. I still, to this day, marvel how he managed to make it all the way to Darktown and not bleed to death on the way.”

 

“He’s a dwarf. We are a stubborn folk,” Bodahn jested and Anders huffed out a laugh, feeling the first real smile of the day pull on the corners of his mouth.

 

“Enchantment!” Sandal added happily and this time, Anders couldn’t fight the smile as he glanced at the carefree boy and the wide grin on his face. He could feel Fenris’ eyes on him. The elf seemed impatient and Anders figured he couldn’t blame him.

 

“I’ll be honest. It might get dangerous. What we need…removed is not only enchanted.”

 

Bodahn made a face at Anders’ words and glanced worriedly at Sandal. “We are immune to magic, as you may know,” Bodahn whispered. “Sandal might get lucky.”

 

“Wait, wait,” Varric interfered, stepping close as well. “What exactly are we talking about?”

 

“You did say I stole a _magister’s_ favorite toy, make an educated guest,” Anders muttered.

 

“Oh, _shit_.”


	6. Six

By sunset, Fenris was pacing the clinic. An angry stalk that made Anders both, somewhat afraid the elf would snap any moment, and irritated because he was forced to sit and watch the elf.

 

Anders wasn’t used to sitting around and doing nothing. Not since he’d escaped the Circle for good and especially not since coming to Kirkwall and opening a clinic for the downtrodden. Usually, the clinic would be filled with the ill and poor, in need of healing or a few hours in a safe, warm place. There would be children on the floor, playing with marbles, their giggling filling the clinic with life.

 

But the lantern wasn’t lit and the clinic’s door safely locked, as Varric had requested. He’d treated them to something to eat, fresh from Hightown’s market, before telling them to return to Darktown and wait there until nightfall.

 

Both, Anders and Fenris, had been more than happy to leave Hightown as fast as possible, away from prying eyes and Danarius’ mansion. Anders had chosen a different route on the way back, one that was safer in his opinion and would easily confuse people not familiar with the secret passages and corridors. A route not safe for someone not held in high regards by Darktown residents. Anders didn’t have to worry about the darkest alleys or the grim faces greeting him. They had only been stopped once, by concerned Lowtown folks inquiring if the Healer was aware that he was followed by a mummed person, which had actually made him laugh.

 

Laughter was far from his mind right now and neither Fenris’ angry stalking, not Justice’s demands of opening the clinic for those in need helped lifting his mood.

 

“Would you _stop_?” Anders asked tiredly, making Fenris pause his steps to shoot him an angry glare.

 

“The longer I stay in this city and the longer I am wearing _this_ ,” Fenris tugged on the collar, “the sooner Danarius will find me. If he kills me for escaping, I can consider myself lucky and so can _you_.”

 

“I’m not easily killed,” Anders retorded and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

Moss green eyes narrowed at him but Fenris said nothing, just staring him down. Anders fought the urge to squirm and averted his gaze. He’d never liked being looked at this way. It brought back too many unpleasant memories.

 

“Do you trust him?” Fenris asked. “That dwarf, I mean. You seem to have a history that I am in the unknown about.”

 

“You don’t trust _me_ , so what does it matter if I trust Varric?” Anders challenged and Fenris growled in annoyance.

 

“You are not exactly making it easy to trust you, mage,” Fenris pointed out. “With all your blighted secrets and avoiding answers to my questions.”

 

“Maybe you didn’t ask the right questions?”

 

“You test my temper.”

 

“Not much to test with someone as hot-tempered as you are.”

 

“ _Venhendis_!” Fenris cursed loudly and turned his back on Anders. To the mage’s relief, Fenris didn’t return to pacing. He just stood there, in the middle of the clinic, as it slowly grew dark outside. Anders prayed they wouldn’t have to wait for much longer. He just wanted the elf relieved of his collar and gone, so he could return to his usual routine.

 

What had he been thinking, freeing that blighted elf, anyway? He had enough problems as it was.

 

**You would deny a creature in need of help**? Justice asked.

 

“Maker, shut up,” Anders murmured. Fenris turned his head enough that he could squint at him. “Not _you_ ,” the mage complained. “Although I wouldn’t mind that either.”

 

“Because _your_ company is _so_ pleasant,” Fenris scoffed. “I am not surprised you’re all by yourself, I cannot imagine how someone could stand being near you for a longer period of time.”

 

“Really?” Anders sneered back defensively. “Then why are you still here? There’s the fucking door, get out! See how far you can get!”

 

It was a battle of will. Anders could see Fenris trying not to get enraged and do – or say – something he would regret within moments. It wasn’t that Anders had need to be afraid. Many had tried to harm him.

 

They all had met Justice in the end. Literally.

 

**I do not approve of your sarcasm** , Justice let him know and the slightly petulant tone of the spirit’s voice made Anders fight a grin.

 

Fenris sighed loudly and relaxed, though his hands remained balled into fists. “Why are we arguing?” he asked.

 

“Probably because you continue to be a rude asshole,” Anders pointed out. “Thanks for the last comment concerning my very charming character, by the way. Lovely.”

 

Fenris bit his lip and averted his gaze.

 

“We can make this a game while we wait for Varric and, hopefully, Bodahn and his boy,” Anders suggested, suddenly tired of arguing with the elf. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the elf’s impatience. Maybe he really had been alone for too long.

 

“A game?” Fenris asked.

 

“We take turns in asking each other a question. The one being questioned has to answer truthfully.” Anders slumped in his chair. It creaked suspiciously under his weight. He would need a new one, soon. He didn’t fancy another chair crashing beneath him and giving him back pains for a few days. “I’ll start, if you want. Ask me something.”

 

The elf considered the suggestion, his stance finally relaxing completely. Slender fingers flexed, his body slouched. Anders wondered if that was a relaxing pose for the elf or the result of carrying a heavy sword on his back all the time.

 

“How did you meet Varric?” Fenris eventually asked. At least he was going easy on him.

 

“He and some guy named Hawke came to my clinic, a little over a week ago. As you have heard, they plan an expedition to the Deep Roads. I don’t know how much you know about them, but they are a veritable labyrinth stretching across all of Thedas. They received news that I am in the possession of a rather accurate map and asked me for it.”

 

“Why would you have --?”

 

“Ah ah!” Anders interrupted. “My turn.”

 

Fenris made a face at him. “Very well.”

 

“What did you do that your master thought it necessary to keep you on a leash like a rabid dog?”

 

The elf took a deep breath, arms crossing. “My master and I sailed for Seheron, a little over a year ago. As you may know, Tevinter is constantly at war with the Qunari. Things didn’t go as planned and I had to bring him to safety, after he was injured. There was a ship and its captain willing to return him to Tevinter, where he could recover. The same captain had no room for dirty slaves on his ship, so Danarius was forced to leave me behind.”

 

Their eyes met and Anders lifted an eyebrow. “The question wasn’t answered yet.”

 

Fenris growled in annoyance. “I was injured myself and without water or food. I was found by a tribe of Fog Warriors. They nursed me back to health and gave me a place to stay. It wasn’t until several months later, that Danarius returned to come and get me.”

 

“And by then, you had a taste of what life as a free man is like,” Anders murmured understandingly. “Alright…your turn.”

 

“Why would you have a map for the Deep Roads? From what I have heard, no one but dwarves would voluntarily set foot into them.”

 

“No one but dwarves and Grey Wardens,” Anders agreed quietly. “I am a Grey Warden. A deserted one, but…still had that map from my time in the order.”

 

“A Grey Warden.” Fenris regarded him. “The only ones able to stop a blight. I have heard of the order.”

 

“I doubt there’s anyone who hasn’t yet,” Anders said with a small smile. “Alright. What happened when Danarius came to get you?”

 

Fenris’ features darkened at the question. It told Anders he had touched a rather sensitive subject and he wondered if he should ask something else instead, but then Fenris was already talking. “He demanded I return to Tevinter with him. As you said, I had gotten a taste of freedom. The people had been good to me, treated me as an equal, taught me about the Qun, too. I could have happily stayed with them until the end of my days, but my master had returned. When he realized how much living with them had changed me, that they were willing to fight for my freedom and that I was ready to do the same, he decided to teach me a lesson. He ordered me to kill them all. Every single one, men, women and children.”

 

Anders knew when he’d reached another’s limit and the various emotions crossing the elf’s features told him it would do no good to inquire further. Fenris’ face and eyes told him everything he needed to know, for the time being.

 

And after tonight, it wouldn’t matter. Anders felt confident that Fenris would leave his clinic before the crack of dawn, finally freed of the remaining shackles. And he deserved it.

 

He really did.

 

“Varric mentioned not having the maps in his possession,” Fenris spoke up again, though he sounded strained. “Why did you not give it to him and this man named Hawke? You have no use for them anymore, do you?”

 

“I might, one day,” Anders said around a sigh. “Of course, I wouldn’t just give them up for free, so I demanded something in return. I required their assistance in a personal matter, freeing a friend from the local Circle. It was time to free Karl and bring him somewhere safe. Somewhere we both could be free. Things didn’t go as planned, as you know.”

 

“Did Hawke or Varric kill him? Is that why you hold a grudge against them?”

 

It had been Anders’ turn but the mage let it slide. “No. No, they didn’t kill him. I did.”

 

Fenris’ brows furrowed in confusion. “Why? Did he betray you?”

 

“I suppose you could call it that, though Karl wouldn’t have done it if they hadn’t…they made him Tranquil. I don’t know if you are familiar with the procedure and its effects. I suppose it is not practiced in Tevinter.”

 

“On the contrary, it is. It is rarely done and only to those the magistrate considers too dangerous. Mages who have no control of their magic, sometimes if they committed a crime.” Fenris pursed his lips. “But I won’t claim I understand what it means. I know they lose their magic abilities through the ritual, but –“

 

“It’s very much like a beheading. Magic isn’t the only thing we lose. We lose who we are. We lose our emotions. We turn into empty, obedient vessels that never voice a complaint, no matter what is demanded of us.” Anders sighed. “Karl and I had once promised one another, should they make one of us Tranquil, the one who is not will kill the other and give them peace. We refused to be puppets, slaves, to the Templar order or the Chantry.”

 

Fenris’ frown deepened. “It appears things are indeed much different here than in Tevinter.” He glanced at his feet and Anders, for some reason unknown to him, did the same. He would never understand why elves disliked shoes. Not all of them – he knew enough who _loved_ boots and wore them religiously, but most walked barefooted. “For what it is worth, I am sorry for your loss.”

 

Anders felt his throat tighten. For the first time, the words didn’t make him angry or avoidant. It had been a long day and a very short night and he blamed his exhaustion on the fact that this time, they got to him. He barely remembered bidding goodbye to Sina and her mother during the early morning hours, the little girl having recovered enough that she could go home; that was how tired he had been before locking up the clinic and trying to find help for Fenris.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered and Fenris offered a small nod in response.

 

Three knocks against the door had them both alert within a second. It was followed by two knocks, then another three knocks. The signal they had agreed on.

 

“Guess the time has come,” Anders said with a smile and got up to unlock the door. He made a face at Varric’s wide grin before greeting Bodahn and Sandal with a grateful smile.

 

The smile was wiped off his face instantly when he became aware of the tall figure standing behind the group of dwarfs. “You will not set foot into my clinic, Hawke,” he told the man and Varric groaned loudly. “Why did you bring him here?” Anders asked the dwarf angrily, feeling Fenris approach from behind.

 

“Varric informed me you have a bit of a problem,” Garrett Hawke stated with a lopsided smile. He looked the same like the night they had met up at the Chantry to free Karl. A poorly assembled armor, leaning on his staff like an old or wounded man, which was a rather clever idea to remain unnoticed, Anders supposed. The tall man’s full beard made Anders want to grab and tug on it hard. He had never been as irritated by a beard in his entire life and he still didn’t know why _this_ particular beard annoyed him so much. Perfectly white teeth flashed when Hawke grinned at him. “I might be able to help.”

 

“You will _not_ set foot in my clinic,” Anders repeated angrily. “People like you are the reason why perfectly innocent and good-hearted people like Karl are made Tranquil.”

 

“Maybe we should discuss this inside? Even Darktown has eyes and ears everywhere,” Varric suggested calmly.

 

“The dwarves can come in,” Anders agreed, stepping aside to let them pass. “But _you_ ,” he pointed a finger at Hawke, “will stay outside.”

 

“It wasn’t my fault!” Hawke exclaimed. Anders responded by slamming the door shut.

 

“Sweet,” Varric commented. “You ask for help and then send it away.”

 

“I asked for someone who knows about enchantments, _not_ a maleficar,” Anders snapped at the dwarf.

 

“That man outside is a blood mage?” Fenris asked with disdain.

 

“Listen, I am not too fond of blood mages myself, Blondie, but at least Hawke isn’t a crazed one wanting to drown the entire city in blood.”

 

“ _Yet_.”

 

“Come on, he helped you at the Chantry, didn’t he? We both risked our heads to get _your_ lover out of there. No one could have known we were too late. Hawke agreed to help your elf after I told him what you’ve done _this_ time.”

 

“Fuck you,” Anders muttered angrily. “And Fenris is not _my_ elf.”

 

“I second that,” Fenris grunted out and the two of them glowered at each other.

 

“Enchantment?” Sandal asked, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden tension, and Anders and Varric both sighed.

 

“Yes. Enchantment. Fenris, maybe you’d like to sit down and have the boy take a look at your collar?” Anders suggested tiredly.

 

 

Fenris was a mixture of uncomfortable and wary, sitting on the chair Anders had previously occupied, three dwarves gathering around him while Sandal carefully inspected the collar. He had brought an impressive amount of tools, too and Anders briefly thought it looked like Fenris was about to be tortured, not freed.

 

Darktown was silent tonight, more so than Anders knew it to be, with the exception of Hawke continuing to call through the closed door to let him in. Once Anders was assured that Fenris had relaxed enough to let Sandal work on him without the poor boy’s health endangered, the mage strolled back to the door and slipped outside, almost bumping right into Hawke. For someone so ridiculously tall and broad-shouldered, Hawke looked like a sulking child, arms crossed and cheeks puffed up in indignance when their eyes met. Anders remembered having looked the same once, many years ago. He wondered how old that _boy_ was.

 

“Have you calmed down yet?” Hawke asked. Anders felt his blood boil and he knew it wasn’t only him who just wanted to punch that man in the face.

 

“I told you I never want to see your face again,” Anders stated flatly. “If there’s one thing I hate almost as much as Templars, it’s people like _you_.”

 

Hawke snorted. “And what does that even mean? What kind of person am I?”

 

“The kind of person who was supposed to help me free a fellow mage while _not_ confirm to the Templars why they believe to have every reason to lock us away like wild animals!”

 

A sigh. “Listen, I was trying to help…”

 

“By using blood magic? Splendid idea, kid, thanks a lot!” Anders snapped. “Why can’t you idiots ever say no when a demon makes an offer? Don’t you children learn _anything_?”

 

“And you are that much wiser because you spent _how_ long in the Circle?” Hawke argued. “I am not taking shit from someone who is _possessed_.”

 

Anders growled, hands balling into fists. Hawke didn’t look very impressed. “That’s two completely different things.”

 

“No, it’s not. From what I remember, you let a Fade spirit possess you in a time of great need. Guess what, you’re not the only one who’s found himself in such a situation.” Another sigh. “I am not a monster, Anders. I know what I am doing.”

 

Anders huffed in response. “That elf in there was slave to a blood mage. Did you honestly think it was a good idea to come here and offer your help to someone like him?”

 

“Did you honestly think it’s a good idea to get into trouble with a magister?”

 

Anders’ cheeks puffed and Hawke smiled at him.

 

“Is he cute? The elf I mean.”

 

“Seriously?” Anders grunted. “How old _are_ you?”

 

“How old are _you_? You don’t look old enough to be some grumpy old fart who doesn’t remember humor.” Hawke’s lips pursed and he looked at Anders from head to toe. “I suppose that was an insensitive question, given the circumstance that –“

 

“Don’t. Maker, why won’t you and Varric just let it go?” Anders exclaimed, ignoring the shadows flitting around them. He remembered how much they had spooked him, at first. He’d spent the first couple nights wide awake and alert, worrying that, the moment he closed his eyes, someone would break into his clinic and rob him. Or worse.

 

“Because it’s never easy to lose someone you love and you just…ran away.”

 

The look in Garrett’s eyes told Anders that, for once, the other man actually _did_ know what he was talking about. Anders didn’t think highly of blood mages, but he wouldn’t pour salt into a mourning man’s wound. “Who?” he asked quietly.

 

“My sister, Bethany. She was killed while we escaped Lothering. Bravely faced an ogre.” There was a fond smile on Hawke’s lips. “She was an excellent Force mage, but that beast was…strong. My brother and I barely managed to slay it before it would kill us all.” He paused. “My father, though it was years ago by now.”

 

Anders distantly remembered that Hawke had mentioned he was from Ferelden, too, when they had first met. He hadn’t really paid attention to the young man and his attempts to charm the maps out of Anders’ pockets; he had been surprised, though, that Hawke had agreed to help free Karl immediately.

 

“My father never spoke much of the Circle,” Hawke suddenly spoke up again. “I suppose there was not much pleasant to say about it. He only ever said that Bethany and I should consider ourselves lucky that we didn’t have to grow up in one.” He extended a hand. Anders looked at it warily, noticing the thin, fading scars that one would usually find on a blood mage. One was still fresh, stemming from that fateful night. He remembered the terror in the Templars’ faces and wondered if it would be alright to be amused, _just_ a little, over them facing a blood mage and unable to stop him from casting. “What happened to Karl was cruel and unnecessary. I am sorry.”

 

It was with reluctance that Anders stretched out his own hand and took Hawke’s. It was warm, unlike his own hand and the gentle squeeze of Hawke’s calloused fingers felt nice.

 

“I suppose I owe you the maps to the Deep Roads,” Anders murmured. “A deal is a deal.”

 

 

The door opened and Varric poked his head out.

 

“Sorry to interrupt you two love birds,” he said, “but Sandal is possibly about to remove that thing and I figured your grumpy friend may feel comfortable having you with him.”

 

Hawke threw Anders a suggestive glance and the blond felt his cheeks grow warm. With a huff, he stomped back inside, this time voicing no complaint when Hawke followed. Anders did take notice of the fact that Hawke kept a respectful distance to Fenris, who sat rigid in the chair, hands clawing into his thighs.

 

“How is it going?” Anders asked.

 

“Enchantment!” Sandal supplied and Anders chuckled at the concentrated look on the young dwarf’s face, tongue sticking out as he worked with his tools.

 

“I believe my boy can help,” Bodahn said. “If he gets so engrossed, it usually means he figured it out.”

 

Anders offered Fenris what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Good,” he said, noticing the way the elf’s moss green eyes fixed their gaze on the man by the door. His disdain was obvious.

 

“So, elf,” Varric spoke up. “Tell us a little about yourself.”

 

Anders squinted at Varric, wondering what he was up to now. Fenris gifted the dwarf with a similar look.

 

Varric shrugged and offered a toothy grin. “I figured I’d try and distract you from those very sharp objects near your delicate throat, Grumpy.”

 

“It is nothing I am not familiar with,” Fenris gritted out.

 

“Alright. Want to talk about your lyrium markings instead?”

 

In the background, Hawke arched his neck to get a better view on the elf and the markings in question.

 

“No,” Fenris said, then flinched when Sandal curiously poked at the markings decorating the elf’s chin.

 

“Enchantment!” Sandal exclaimed excitedly. Anders watched Fenris’ nostrils flare when the dwarven boy’s hands continued to examine his face. One hand brushed away strands of white hair from the elf’s forehead and Anders blinked when three silvery dots greeted his eyes, shimmering in the dim light. Fenris growled and Anders couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

“What amuses you so much, mage?” Fenris demanded to know.

 

“I am sorry,” Anders laughed, “just…those dots on your forehead are…kind of adorable?”

 

“Enchantment!” Sandal cooed, patting the elf’s forehead and Fenris gritted his teeth.

 

“My dear boy,” Bodahn spoke up softly, “maybe we focus on the collar again, yes? You’re making Messere Elf uneasy.”

 

“Messere Grumpy Pants would suit him better,” Anders remarked dryly.

 

“Watch your mouth, mage,” Fenris snarled, his view still blocked by Sandal’s hand.

 

“Or else what? You start glowing again and punch me in the face?”

 

“You let a man almost half your size punch you, a Grey Warden, in the face?” Varric asked. “I’m sort of disappointed, Blondie.”

 

Anders huffed. “I was, uh…sort of indisposed when it happened.”

 

“Old stick in the mud?”

 

“If you are referring to Justice, then, uh…yes…”

 

**Old stick in the mud?** Justice asked, confused. **What is this tiny man speaking of?**

 

_You_.

 

“Grumpy Pants punched your glowing better half in the face? _Now_ I am seriously impressed with you, Tevinter elf!”

 

“ _Stop_ with the ridiculous names!” Fenris barked, now able to glare at them as Sandal had removed his hand to return to work on the collar. “My name is Fenris.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Fenris!” Hawke called from his spot by the door. He earned a dark look that made Anders smile.

 

“Enchantment!” Sandal announced, giving the collar a final, gentle hit with the small gavel he’d been using.

 

Fenris’ back stiffened when a click was heard and Anders watched the collar’s lock jump open. Fenris grabbed it and pulled – it didn’t come off.

 

Varric hummed thoughtfully, while Sandal gave the collar a quizzical look. Fenris snarled and tugged on it once again, but the collar refused to give in.

 

“Have to give it to your master, he’s clever,” Varric murmured. “Maybe Sandal can find out how to –“

 

“Something’s wrong,” Hawke called and Anders felt it, too, the sudden cold spreading inside his clinic that had shivers run down his spine.

 

“Does anyone else smell blood?” Varric asked, brows furrowed.

 

Anders felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet. It was the only warning he got before the floor seemed to open up, the temperature dropping further. He was frozen to the spot when a shade rose from the floor and he found himself staring directly into its ugly face. It had been a while since Anders last had to deal with this kinda thing.

 

He hadn’t missed it one bit.

 

**Demons!** Justice roared inside him.

 

“I did say the collar was sealed with blood magic,” Anders murmured.

 

“Blighted mage!” someone yelled at him and before Anders knew what was happening, he was going down, the weight of another person crashing into him, the shade’s claws grazing his cheek.

 

Anders blinked as soon as his back hit the floor, angry green eyes staring down at him. “Did you truly desert the Grey Wardens or did they throw you out because you weren’t even able to defend yourself?” Fenris snarled at him over the noise surrounding them. There were arrows whirring through the air; Hawke was yelling and Fenris’ breathing was labored, the slightly loosened collar still around his neck as he stared at Anders, waiting for a reaction.

 

“There are demons in my fucking clinic,” Anders stated dumbly, fingers twitching against the dirty floor when a fire spread in his veins. He could see his own reflection in Fenris’ green eyes, watched pupils narrow when cracks of blue split open his skin. “ ** _I will not allow this_** ,” they boomed. Anders watched his hands gripping the elf’s collar tightly and the elf’s hands grabbed his wrists in return. Fenris made a choked sound and Anders felt it, all the darkness, the blood, the _evil_ in this single, magical collar, his blood boiling in anger.

 

**We will not allow this**.

 

_Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him._


	7. Seven

Something solid and cold pressed against the pounding back of his head and Fenris hissed in pain and relief, then growled at the man who had supplied him with – “Is that a _rock_?”

 

“Hey, it was the best thing I could do,” Hawke said petulantly, “so frozen rocks it is. You said to keep my hands off you.”

 

“I think that’s pretty clever, actually,” Varric offered and Fenris watched Hawke flash the dwarf a grateful smile.

 

“Why thank you!”

 

Trying to ignore the icy cold making his fingertips numb as he pressed the frozen rock against his sore head, Fenris allowed himself a moment to take in his current situation. Sitting on the floor, in the middle of the mage’s clinic that was true mess right now. There were burns decorating the floor, the walls and furniture; piles of ashes and one disgusting smelling puddle on the floor where they had struck down an Arcane horror that had surprised them just as they had defeated the shades.

 

If Fenris were to be honest, it had actually been Anders who struck down said Arcane horror.

 

Cots had been toppled, at least one was destroyed in a manner that all Anders could do with it was throw it out. Broken vials were glittering in the dim light of the clinic’s fireplace and whatever Anders had kept on his desk was scattered across the floor. Fenris figured he shouldn’t be surprised that Danarius would seal the collar with a spell that called up demons, ensuring that freedom was not an option for the one trying to escape. Had he been alone, Fenris had no doubt he would be dead now.

 

Instead, he found himself surrounded by complete strangers who had all fought what Danarius had cursed Fenris with. Men who had no business with the horrors Fenris had faced, no business in protecting Fenris from the man who claimed ownership of him. Garrett Hawke, a blood mage who seemed rather inexperienced in actual, dangerous battles. He had noticed the frowns and the looks of pure despair on Hawke’s face whenever a spell didn’t quite work out the way he had planned. Fenris only knew mages as people who fought from a safe distance, to give their spells room to grow and gain in effect, but Hawke had turned out surprisingly adept with daggers, too.

 

Varric Tethras, a dwarf of many facets that Fenris found himself unable to trust. He still wasn’t sure what kind of man Varric was, but he had not hesitated to fight the demons and he had, strangely enough, made sure to keep an eye on every single one of them. He’d had their backs during the fight and he was a master with his interesting, unusual crossbow by the name of Bianca. Fenris found it odd that a weapon would have a name, but there was something in the way Varric said the name that told the elf there was a history behind it.

 

And the mage…

He glanced over to Anders. The mage, just like the rest of them, sat on the floor, slumped against the wall. He’d been constantly nodding off and jolting awake immediately for a while now. Fenris didn’t think he’d ever seen a man quite as exhausted as the mage.

 

And he felt responsible for it, as much as Fenris felt responsible for endangering them all. As much as Fenris had longed to regain his freedom, he was no fool and knew he owed Hawke, Tethras and Anders for their help. Freedom always came with a prize, but it was a prize Fenris would gladly pay.

The dwarf looked up from polishing his crossbow and regarded Anders with a worried look. “Think we should put Blondie into bed?” Varric asked and Fenris watched the mage’s fingers twitch, indicating he was awake. “Is he even conscious anymore?”

 

“I can hear you,” Anders muttered and Varric grinned, “and none of you completely useless idiots will touch me.”

 

“That hurts,” Hawke complained. “Even half-dead, you’re mean.”

 

“I am not half-dead, I’m exhausted after stealing a magister’s elf, not getting any sleep the previous night, then run across the entire blighted city to find someone who can help him…” Anders shifted against the wall. “And ended up having to fight shades and an Arcane horror and now I’m out of mana on top of everything else. If the two of you can’t even deal with things like shades and Arcane horrors, how can you _possibly_ expect to survive the Deep Roads?”

 

Hawke and Varric had at least the decency to look slightly embarrassed and Fenris found he had no reason to argue with Anders. He wouldn’t even have argued if Anders had included him in his rant, either. The mage had saved them and Fenris had to admit that Anders’ powers were – impressive.

 

Impressive enough that Fenris overlooked the fact that this _thing_ inside Anders had grabbed him, catching Fenris unprepared and unarmed; his fist short of ripping a hole into the mage’s chest when the collar suddenly came off, cracking and bursting in the demon’s grip. Fenris lifted his free hand and rubbed the still sore skin on his throat.

 

“I guess that means you’ll have to come with and protect us?” Hawke suggested with a smirk. Anders lifted a trembling hand, pointing a finger at the maleficar. Even though Hawke was aware that, for the time being, his fellow mage posed no threat, out of mana and barely able to stay awake, he flinched and hid behind the dwarf.

 

“No,” was all Anders said to the ‘offer’. “Now get out.”

 

“Aw, is the party over already?” Varric teased, but got on his feet anyway.

 

Anders groaned in response and got moving as well. Fenris could see how much effort it took the mage to keep his eyes open. Standing up was an even greater challenge and despite the soreness in his own bones and muscles, Fenris moved closer, wrapping one of Anders’ arms around his shoulders and helped him stand.

 

“Desk,” Anders murmured and Fenris hummed in confirmation, his left arm wrapping around the mage’s middle for more support as he moved them over to the desk. Anders leaned heavily on it and pulled one of the drawers open. He didn’t need to rummage, there was only one item in it. The maps, Fenris figured, as he watched Anders pull them out and wave into Hawke’s general direction.

 

“The maps,” Anders announced, confirming the elf’s thought. “Take them. Thank you for helping me help Fenris. Now, just…get out.”

 

“Are you okay, Blondie?” Varric asked and there was honest concern on the dwarf’s face. Hawke was frowning when he took the maps from Anders. His presence made Fenris uneasy, as did the sickly sweet scent of blood hanging in the air; but this man, Hawke, had helped him and Fenris wouldn’t forget that.

 

“I believe he needs sleep,” Fenris said quietly. Anders was growing heavier against him with each passing moment, putting a strain on his own sore body.

 

Varric hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “Then we should leave him to it, don’t you think, Hawke?”

 

Hawke, who had studied the maps briefly, glanced up quickly. His frown deepened but he nodded as well and retreated slowly.

 

 

Fenris listened to Varric exchanging a few words with Bodahn outside. The merchant dwarf and his very helpful boy had fled the clinic as soon as the situation had become dire. Fenris made a mental note to make sure he expressed his gratitude to Sandal, as well as to Hawke and Varric properly. Without the collar, he felt more at ease.

 

They stumbled into Anders’ narrow room together. Figuring it would make no sense to ask Anders to get out of his clothes, Fenris helped him get on his bed, where the mage curled up immediately, his boots getting dirt all over the sheets.

 

“Where do you plan on going now?” Anders asked quietly, while Fenris regarded the man.

 

“I will admit I have not made any plans. It did not look like I would need them, until last night,” Fenris replied in kind.

 

“I see,” the mage murmured. Fenris watched his eyes slip closed, his head resting heavily on the pillow. “I don’t have any coin to help you out with, as you know,” Anders went on. “You might get lucky at the docks. They always need a helping hand or two on their ships. The one or other might offer to take you to Ferelden in exchange for you working aboard.”

 

The elf hummed.

 

“Or you could try and make some money first? I’m sure Hawke or Varric have an idea how to make some coin in this Maker forsaken city.”

 

“I will consider it,” Fenris promised. “You should rest now.” He paused and cleared his throat. “And…thank you. You didn’t need to do all this to help me. I didn’t expect removing the collar would –“

 

“Shut up,” Anders caught him off, the words mumbled. “Goodbye, Fenris.”

 

Fenris frowned at the other man, caught offguard by the sudden change of mood. But then, Fenris thought, Anders was tired. Fenris knew he wasn’t exactly the most pleasant person when he was exhausted and that had often led to trouble when his master still demanded his presence.

 

His master…

 

Again, Fenris reached up, fingertips gliding along the slightly sore skin on his throat. It was gone. Danarius’ control over him was gone and although Fenris had waited for this moment, the idea felt impossible to grasp. Only last night, some stranger had taken pity on him and dragged him away from Danarius with the promise of helping him to freedom.

 

Fenris hadn’t expected said promise to become reality quickly, thanks to a bunch of strangers who owed him nothing and yet, they had gathered and helped him. Without demanding something in return.

 

Yet.

 

He supposed Anders had kind of paid for it – with the maps to the Deep Roads he had promised Hawke once before. From what he’d heard, accurate maps of the Deep Roads were of high value and the mage could have no doubt made a lot of coin if he had sold them. Even Tevinter had great interest in the Deep Roads and the alleged treasures found within them. Not to mention the inexhaustible amount of lyrium.

 

Fenris glanced at his arms, regarding the markings with disgust and an idea began to form in the back of his mind. Danarius was still in Kirkwall, of that he was certain, and he would continue to search for him, collar or not. They had only managed to make that task more difficult, but not impossible. Danarius was clever. Fenris needed to make sure to remain one step ahead of the magister.

 

Would he truly be free, with Danarius following his every step and wanting back what he considered his? Fenris was no fool, he was aware of the fortune in lyrium bedded in his skin and he was also aware of how much value the abilities it gave him was to Danarius – and to anyone else who was in need of a swift, proficient killer, whose mere appearance was threatening.

 

A small gasp returned his attention to the mage and Fenris frowned when he noticed the way Anders’ shoulders shook, the gasps turning out to be sobs. The mage appeared no longer aware of his presence as he cried into his pillow. Fenris wondered if exhaustion was the cause for Anders’ tears, or grief. The mage’s initial avoidance to speak of his late lover told Fenris that Anders had not allowed himself to mourn his lover’s death yet.

 

The elf was not familiar with such situations. Slaves were not taught how to offer comfort, and they also received little to none.

 

But he could stand guard tonight and make sure the mage got the rest he needed.

 

 

~*~

 

Morning came too soon and the harsh sunlight revealed how bad off the clinic really was. Fenris once again took in the sight of broken cots, stacks of paper decorating the dirty floor, the remains of the creatures they had fought. Fenris didn’t dare touch them. He’d fought and killed them before, but he had never needed to clean up afterwards. If such thing occurred in Tevinter, Danarius would make other slaves clean up the mess Fenris created, fighting whoever Danarius decided to be his opponent. It wasn’t often that Danarius would call upon demons to test Fenris’ abilities; usually, it would be someone else’s slave. A display of power, which Danarius loved. He loved to intimidate. To destroy what someone else held dear, to teach them a lesson. Too many had died at the end of Fenris’ blade – or his own hands, stuck inside their bodies, tearing out organs or snapping spines in two, on Danarius’ command.

 

Fenris lifted his hands and looked at them, his eyes burning after spending all night awake to keep watch over the mage. Anders had cried for a long time and Fenris was left feeling helpless. His hands had never soothed, never offered comfort and neither did he know if it would be welcome. His hands only knew how to inflict pain, how to kill. He was determined to teach his hands something new, something not born of cruelty.

 

A soft moan emerged from the room in the back and suddenly, Fenris was wide awake. Would Anders get angry, still finding the elf in his clinic after more or less throwing him out the night before? Fenris was uncertain how to interpret the mage’s words, whether they were born from utter exhaustion and annoyance, or because Anders had expected him to run, now that he could.

 

Fenris snarled. He used to be better at interpersonal communication; but then, the people he’d met here were not as simple, not as open as the Fog Warriors had been. Here, the people were full of secrets. Here, people looked down upon the elves as a race, though he had not experienced such with the people he’d met.

 

He froze when he heard heavy footsteps approach and slowly turned around to face the mage. Anders still looked pale, his clothes disheveled and his hair resembling a bird’s nest. He was staring at Fenris, confusion written across his features. Fenris could see the mage trying to make sense, recalling the previous’ nights events and attempting to find an explanation as to why the elf was still in his clinic.

 

“You were in no state to be left alone,” Fenris felt compelled to explained. “You wouldn’t have been able to protect yourself, exhausted as you were. I supposed staying the night would be wise.”

 

Anders’ eyebrows rose. “To protect me?”

 

“It was the least I could do,” the elf muttered, his ears growing warm with embarrassment. “After all, you were exhausted because removing the collar proved to not be as simple as you’d hoped.”

 

Anders leaned against the wall and gave his ruined clinic a good look-over. “It was quite the event, wasn’t it?” he asked tiredly. “But now that you’re still here, the _very_ least you can do is help me clean up.”

 

Fenris inclined his head. “Helping you clean up is not going to repay my debt,” he stated. “I owe you.”

 

“No, you really don’t.” Anders waved a dismissive hand at the elf. “Maker, this is twice now that you could have simply left and you’re _still_ here. I might start to think you like me or something.”

 

The elf huffed, lips quirking into a smile. “You’re not so bad.”

 

“Remember you said that,” the mage shot back before disappearing into his room again. To wash and adjust his clothing, Fenris assumed.

 

Maybe he could convince the mage to find them something to eat, too.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update this! I got sick about four weeks ago and was bed-ridden for two and once returning to work, it was the only thing I had the energy for and it may take a while until I've fully overcome this crap, blah.

 

“I have good and bad news,” Varric announced upon entering the clinic. Anders kept his back to the dwarf, a scowl forming on his face that seemed to amuse Fenris, who was devouring an apple. And he really did devour it, Anders thought. Each time he got them something nice to eat, it broke Anders’ heart just a little to see how much joy Fenris felt over the food.

 

Considering that the elf was _still_ with him, even though a week had passed since Fenris was freed of the collar, his heart had to be a million tiny pieces by now, barely managing to hold itself together.

 

“I suppose the bad news is you’re _here_ ,” Anders retorted. Fenris hid his smirk behind the apple and glanced at Varric.

 

“Broody is better at being hilarious than you are, Blondie,” Varric observed.

 

“What do you want?” Fenris asked. Between Anders and him, Fenris was more to the point. He didn’t work well with sublety or dancing around a subject. He needed straight and clear orders – or answers. Anders hoped that eventually, Fenris would be able to understand and even indulge in utter nonsense conversations people sometimes simply had. Shrug off another shackle of his years as a slave.

 

Anders certainly knew what it was like.

 

With a shake of his head, Anders returned to his herbs and continued to make potions. He was running dangerously low. There had been an outbreak of a strange disease three days ago, his clinic overrun by people in need of help. Anders thought the worst was over since yesterday afternoon, but the one or other still stumbled into his clinic or asked for more medicine.

 

Anders heard Varric chuckle. “You two really found each other,” he commented dryly. “Anyway, I came here to inform you it would seem that Danarius left Kirkwall and gave up his search on you.”

 

He had been in the middle of chopping elfroot with a knife and Anders knew the sharp end of the small blade was going to slice his finger before it actually did. He felt the sharp pain and watched blood pool out of the cut.

 

“He wouldn’t,” Fenris snarled. “Who told you this?”

 

“A friend of Hawke’s, who is working in the Guard. She was patrolling High Town. She saw people carry crates and bags out of your master’s mansion and onto a carriage. Madam Lusine says he paid the Blooming Rose another visit two nights ago to distract himself for a few hours and mentioned wanting to leave Kirkwall the following day.”

 

Shit. The Blooming Rose. Anders’ eyes widened while more blood dripped on the table and soaked the elfroot. He wouldn’t be able to use that one anymore. He had forgotten to check on Adriano. He had forgotten to speak to Lusine and apologize for any inconvenience his crazy plan to free the elf had caused.

 

“I need to pay Lusine a visit this afternoon,” Anders voiced his thoughts aloud.

 

“Danarius is toying with me,” Fenris said. The elf sounded angry. “He does so enjoy games.”

 

“Or maybe he knows not to mess with a possessed Spirit Healer?” Anders could feel Varric’s eyes on him, could hear the stupid grin in the dwarf’s voice.

 

“What’s the bad news?” Anders asked, annoyed and brought the sliced finger to his mouth. Saliva made the cut burn and he winced lightly.

 

“Did you know you’ve been living next to an estate filled to the brink with slavers all this time?”

 

Finally, Anders turned around and glared at Varric. The dwarf’s irritating grin didn’t falter, but Fenris looked uneasy.

 

“They haven’t bothered us, so no,” Anders replied. “Can’t say I actually noticed their presence, either. Where are they?”

 

“Just a few steps away from the door to the clinic.” Varric pointed a thumb into the general direction.

 

“That boarded up cellar entrance?”

 

“Actually, they reside in the building this entrance leads to. An estate in Hightown. Turns out it once belonged to Hawke’s family. The Amell estate?”

 

“Never heard of it.” Anders waved the dwarf off.

 

“Should we expect trouble from them?” he heard Fenris ask. The still present, now underlying anger in the elf’s voice was hard to miss. In fact, Anders found that most things involving magic, especially blood magic, and slavery, made Fenris’ blood boil within the blink of an eye. Anders had almost risked a broken nose, _again_ , when he tried to heal a nasty cut on Fenris’ left leg two days ago. He didn’t know where the elf had been, whom he’d gotten into trouble with during the few hours away from the clinic, or how he’d obtained that injury, but Anders knew better than to ask.

 

He learned that asking if he could use magic on the elf was something he definitely, _definitely_ should do.

 

“Ah, no, but…Hawke wants to cause _them_ some trouble. Apparently, his uncle lost the estate through gambling and Hawke wants it back. For his mother.”

 

“I see,” Fenris muttered and Anders already knew he wasn’t liking the direction this conversation took.

 

“No,” Anders said decisively. “No, no and _no_ again. I said I don’t want to have the deal with you anymore and I meant it.”

 

“Hawke offers to pay,” Varric added with a sweet smile. “You could use some stuff for your clinic, right?”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“I will help,” Fenris spoke up and Anders’ mouth snapped shut, eyes wide.

 

  
“ _What_?”

 

The elf sighed and Maker, Anders hated that particular sigh. “Mage, whether I like it or not, Hawke and Varric have both helped me get rid of that collar, too. I am in their debt and I intent to pay it off before leaving this place for good.” Fenris told him.

 

“They got what they wanted,” Anders grunted out. “That map is worth a _lot_. It should compensate for any inconveniences I’ve caused them since we’ve met. The answer is no.”

 

“And who are you to decide that?” Fenris snarled at the blond. “I am in your debt as well, Anders, but I will not let _you_ put another collar on me. I am going and you have no say in it.”

 

That…stung. Surprisingly so. Anders was left to stare at the elf in disbelief, mouth agape, a thousand words racing through his mind, but none crossing his lips.

 

“I pay off my own debts, mage,” Fenris added, green eyes spitting fire. The same fire Anders had told Fenris to never lose. He just hadn’t anticipated to ever find it directed at him.

 

He wanted to tell the elf that he did not mean to make decisions _for_ him, nor decide where he was allowed to go and where not; that he merely worried that spending time around another blood mage would make him uncomfortable; that he worried for Fenris’ safety.

 

“If that’s the reason why you stayed, go help Hawke and don’t come back,” was what left his mouth instead. The scowl on Fenris’ face melted into utter surprise, black eyebrows lifting as high as they could. Anders wished he could admire the green depths that reminded him of emeralds, because Fenris truly had beautiful eyes.

 

Varric cleared this throat. “Alright, you two lovebirds, no need to fight.”

 

“I am not fighting,” Anders stated. No, he wasn’t, but he was _seething_ and it was ridiculous. “But this is, in fact, _my_ home and I don’t need that kind of company.” He waved his hand dismissively at them both. “Get out. Both of you. Don’t come back.”

 

“As you wish,” Fenris snarled as he grabbed his sword. Anders watched the elf storm out of the clinic, his own anger dissipating as soon as Fenris was out of sight.

 

“You didn’t really mean that, did you?” Varric asked. “Concerning Fenris, I mean.”

 

“I said, **_get out_** ,” Anders boomed at the dwarf, watching blue cracks split the skin of his hand that was still gesturing at the dwarf. Varric gave a mock-bow and retreated.

 

 

~*~

 

Fenris was uncertain whether or not he should be surprised to find Hawke waiting outside. The tall man was standing by the boarded-up entrance, the repeated shuffling on his feet speaking of his impatience. Fenris was clutching the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles protested, yet he found it hard to relax his grip. Anders was an irritating man, something Fenris had soon learned about the mage, but he was not unfair. It meant that something Fenris had said or done must have upset the mage enough that he’d throw him out in such a manner and this time, there was no uncertainty about the way the mage had meant it.

 

“Anders isn’t coming?” Hawke asked in lieu of a greeting. Fenris heard Varric’s heavy footsteps behind him; only Varric’s footsteps.

 

“I believe he made it very clear how unwanted your company is,” Fenris muttered as he came to a halt before the maleficar. His nose scrunched up at the smell of blood, though he was relieved to find that it did not stem from recently used blood magic but dried blood on Hawke’s clothing.

 

“Well…yes,” Hawke admitted. “And I suppose you told him you helped me out with a job and got injured and he got angry?”

 

“He doesn’t know,” Fenris murmured and scowled at his naked feet.

 

“Oh. How’s your leg, anyway?”

 

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

 

“Oh, touchy,” Hawke commented.

 

“Ah, don’t hold it against him. Broody and Blondie just had a lover’s quarrel,” Varric spoke up as he approached the elf and the human.

 

“We’re not lovers,” Fenris growled. “I would appreciate it if you stopped with these remarks.”

 

“Oh?” Hawke seemed genuinely surprised. Fenris felt his ears grow warm. “I thought you two…you know…after all, you stayed with him, so…?”

 

Fenris snarled at Hawke, who held up his hands in a defensive manner, casting a quick, worried glance at the sharp broadsword that Fenris had thrown over his shoulder. It made Fenris feel superior, knowing a mage feared to be struck down by him. A feeling he had never been able to indulge in until now. In fact, it had never occurred to Fenris that maybe even Danarius feared what Fenris was capable of, feared that one day, his prized slave would turn on him. Danarius had created a weapon even he was unable to defeat; controlled only by the collar Fenris was now free of.

 

“You didn’t know where to go, did you?” Hawke asked. He sounded gentle, yet the tone of his voice wasn’t soothing to Fenris, it was alarming. Danarius had often spoken to him in a gentle tone and it had always meant danger. “So you stayed with him because you felt safe there.”

 

“I believe you wanted to reclaim your family’s estate?” Fenris countered roughly. “Are we going in or not?”

 

“Don’t worry, Broody…you probably hurt his delicate feelings. By the time we’re done here, Anders will have calmed down.”

 

With an annoyed growl, Fenris adjusted his grip on his sword, marched toward the entrance and swung the massive blade at the boards blocking the way. Behind him, Hawke flinched in surprise when the rotting wood gave in, revealing a long, ascending staircase.

 

“Nice,” Varric commented with a chuckle.

 

“I don’t have time all day,” Fenris told Hawke and gestured at the path before them. “After you.”

 

 

 

One thing Hawke had in common with Anders was – he talked. A _lot_. While Anders usually talked to himself, a quiet murmur in the background that Fenris had taken to find soothing, Hawke talked loud and about things no one asked for. Anders talked to keep the silence away. Fenris didn’t know why he thought that, but he believed it to be true.

 

Hawke? He seemed to talk whenever he got nervous. Fenris had noticed the tall man stumble over his own words, often spoken with haste, whenever Anders had looked at him angrily. A defense mechanism. Fenris had no idea why Hawke would need such a thing – he was tall, his body surprisingly well-defined and muscular for a mage. His body build would suggest Hawke was a warrior, not someone who whirled a staff around most of the time.

 

As they searched the basement of the estate, Hawke spoke of his mother’s argument with his uncle and how it had been revealed why the estate seemed lost to the family. He spoke of his dream to return from the Deep Roads with enough money to buy it and offer it to his mother as a gift. Keep his family as safe as he could, because he was the oldest sibling and had promised his father on his death bed he’d look after them. Behind him, Varric would occasionally roll his eyes and offer Fenris an apologetic smile. The dwarf had obviously been exposed to this side of Hawke a lot of times.

 

Fenris found it admirable, that Hawke wanted to care for his family; admirable that he risked his own freedom, possibily his life, as an apostate right under the Chantry’s nose, to provide for them. Admirable, that Hawke would face the Deep Roads to offer his family a better life.

 

Fenris also wished Hawke would shut up. If the estate was truly inhabited by slavers, they’d notice them ahead of time.

 

“Lower your voice,” Fenris eventually instructed as they ascended yet another staircase. “You’ll attract their attention.”

 

“I’m surprised _we_ haven’t been surprised yet,” Varric murmured. “My spies had counted about two dozen slavers frequenting this place.”

 

Indeed, they had so far remained undisturbed and Fenris would lie if he didn’t say he was glad for it. On the inside, he was still seething over his argument – if one wanted to call it that – with Anders and he had been looking forward to take out his anger on people who deserved it, to spill some blood. He wasn’t particularly angry with the mage – Fenris had felt angry for three days now and he couldn’t explain why. He had no reason to be angry with anyone – he was free, apart from his intention to pay off his debt to the people who had helped him achieve his freedom.

 

“Maybe they went out? It’s a nice, sunny day, after all,” Hawke mused.

 

  
Fenris felt his ears twitch with annoyance. “I assure you that slavers do not care about the weather.”

 

“Everyone cares about the weather!”

 

The staircase ended and Fenris glanced into the room ahead. The foyer of the estate, by the looks of it, the built identical with Danarius’ mansion. He could feel the mere thought damping his mood further and Fenris snarled into the silence.

 

“I don’t like this,” Varric said warningly while Hawke looked around and whistled, clearly impressed with the place.

 

The whistle echoed and that was the last clear thought Fenris had before things became dire around them.

 

Fenris couldn’t tell how long it took until the last opponent was struck down, but eventually, they stood, panting, covered in blood and gore and sweat, in what looked like a study. Hawke was leaning heavily on the massive desk and searched its drawers, exhausted from having to fight more slavers than he had anticipated and suffering several wounds. Varric was practically unscathed, having aided them from the distance with his crossbow. A unique piece, Fenris thought as he tried to not let the pain his already injured leg gave him show. The crossbow worked fast and efficient. He was once again clutching his broadsword, hands trembling from the effort to not make use of the abilities Danarius little ‘experiment’ had gifted him with. The fight would have been over much faster, but Fenris didn’t dare let his newfound companions know what else he was capable of.

 

He knew how quickly interest could turn into greed.

 

Fenris observed as Hawke continued to search. To his surprise, the man had not used blood magic during the battle. Certainly, it would have served him better than the spells he _had_ used to either attack or defend himself. Anders had been right when he’d pointed out that Hawke wouldn’t survive longer than maybe a day or two in the Deep Roads: he was powerful, but unschooled in how to use these powers efficiently. Danarius would call him a raw diamond in need of proper shaping. Had Hawke’s father not trained him well, while he still had the chance?

 

“Hah!” Hawke suddenly called triumphantly and pulled out a sealed letter.

 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Fenris asked.

 

“Grandfather’s last will,” Hawke confirmed with a nod and a pain-filled grin. “Can’t wait to open it and see what it says.”

 

“Something tells me you’re in need of a Healer, first,” Varric spoke up, wiping his crossbow with his sleeve. “Or healing potions, at the very least.”

 

“I do know a place where I can get both. Problem is, I’m not welcome there.” Hawke shrugged and smiled tiredly.

 

“He will not welcome you as a mere visitor, but Anders will not turn a blind eye on someone in need of healing,” Fenris muttered. Hawke’s eyebrows rose questioningly. The elf shrugged. “Unless you are a Templar. I only go by my observations. He will heal you.”

 

“And throw me out once he’s done.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

Hawke sighed loudly and Varric flashed the elf a grin. “ _Why_ is he being so difficult?” Hawke lamented.

 

Fenris allowed himself a moment to lean on his sword, to take weight off his injured leg. He held back a sigh when the pain lessened immediately, allowing his body to relax. “Forgive me, but my curiosity is getting the better of me,” he murmured.

 

“Do you always talk like this?” Hawke asked dubiously.

 

“What is wrong with the way I talk?” Fenris asked with a growl.

 

“Well…nothing? I guess. Just…you always speak so well-mannered and overly polite and I am not some damn noble you have to impress-“

 

“Yet,” Varric threw in and Fenris scowled at the two men.

 

“Alright, alright,” Hawke said defensively. “What’s your question?”

 

Fenris huffed. “Why won’t you just leave him be? You keep coming back and try to find reasons to get in touch with him.”

 

Hawke’s lips pursed as he considered the elf’s question. Varric chuckled and looked at the tall man expectantly.

 

“Because I think he’s lonely,” Hawke eventually offered for an answer. “When we met him, his mind was occupied by the idea to free his friend. He had come to Kirkwall and waited for the perfect opportunity. And then Karl died and…” Hawke shrugged. “I could be wrong.”

 

Anders had come here with a purpose and was left with nothing. Fenris frowned. It was a familiar concept. He knew what it felt like to be left with no purpose and no place to go and maybe that was what made him restless and angry: he had waited for an opportunity to escape Danarius once and for all. He couldn’t foresee when or where that would be and his opportunity had come in the form of a mage who had happened to spot him at the brothel and decided to help him. From that moment on, Fenris’ purpose was to find a way to free himself of Danarius’ magical collar. In all this time, since Danarius had come to Seheron to reclaim his slave, Fenris had dreamed of freedom, but he had never spared a thought on what to do with it. With the exception of his time with the Fog Warriors, all he knew was to follow his master wherever he went and do whatever Danarius demanded of him. Even the Fog Warriors had given him daily tasks, because he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself and they had realized as much.

 

Now? Now Fenris was doing the same – he didn’t know where to go or what to do with his life, so he stuck with the things that were familiar, like living in Anders’ clinic, and finding something to keep himself busy with on a daily basis, whether it was minor tasks at the clinic or accompanying Hawke on jobs.

 

Afraid of what would happen if he no longer had either.

 

“I understand,” Fenris said simply.

 

 

~*~

 

 

If there was one thing Anders had learned since escaping the Circle for good, it was that things refused to go the way he wanted them to.

 

Escape the tower, get caught _again_. A darkspawn attack at Vigil’s Keep promising another chance to escape for good but instead, he was discovered by the Warden Commander. Instead of leaving when the Warden Commander said he could, Anders stayed and helped clear the place from the Darkspawn, only to find himself faced with yet another rabid Templar wanting him dead. Almost accepting that maybe, death was the only thing awaiting him in this world, he was saved by the Warden Commander _and_ the King of Ferelden who approved of Anders’ conscription.

 

Instead of being free, he was now bound to an order he never thought he’d care for until he did.

 

For a while, Anders had believed life finally turned for the better, until a Templar infiltrated the Grey Warden order and forced him to not only run away again but make a very drastic decision in the worst moment possible.

 

Anders seized his new chance, left Ferelden and came to Kirkwall, deserted from the Grey Warden and possessed by a spirit of justice. His only plan had been to free Karl and then run as far as their feet would take them. Again, things didn’t go according to plan.

 

Of course, Anders therefore had not expected that Hawke, Varric _or_ Fenris would listen when he told them to leave and never come back. Secretly, Anders had hoped they wouldn’t, or, at the very least, that Fenris wouldn’t. He hated that he had become so used to the elf’s company, that the mere idea of Fenris leaving one day and never turning back made his chest tighten. A selfish feeling and Justice never failed to point out how very selfish Anders was in wanting to keep the elf around.

 

“Sweet Maker, what used you as a chew toy and spit you out again?” Anders asked, faking annoyance when the three men stumbled into his clinic, all covered in blood and gore, Fenris limping, Hawke covered in bleeding cuts and sporting a rather nasty gash in his right side. The grimace on the maleficar’s face told Anders he was in a great deal of pain. “Please tell me you didn’t cut _yourself_ open like this,” he added.

 

“Is he trying to be funny?” Hawke gritted out. Fenris grunted in response.

 

“I know we were not supposed to come back, but…” Varric gestured at Hawke. Anders rolled his eyes with a sigh and gestured vaguely at one of the cots before he went to find some herbs and bandages.

 

Anders muttered to himself as he grabbed a healing potion, cursing the three of them and their incapability to just leave him alone, and his incapability of being left alone. He could practically physically _feel_ the amount of pain Hawke was in and it made his heart grow soft and fill with worry and compassion.

 

Another traitorous Fade spirit that occupied his mind when Justice didn’t.

 

**You call Compassion traitorous**? Justice complained and Anders grimaced.

 

“Look at them. How’s that idiot possibly going to survive the Deep Roads? Can’t deal with demons but makes a deal with one. Now he can’t even deal with mere mortals without getting sliced into pieces.”

 

“He’s not,” a voice spoke up behind him and Anders flinched in surprise. Fenris’ composure told him the elf’s leg gave him great trouble right now; other than a cut on his cheek, Fenris seemed uninjured. “You should teach him so he will,” Fenris added, leaning on his sword and regarding the mage calmly.

 

“Teach him what exactly?” Anders asked with a huff.

 

“Useful spells that will serve him well. Defensive and offensive spells. He did cast some but he has not fully mastered control over the things he’s capable of,” Fenris explained.

 

“What, are you an expert on mages?”

 

“I’ve lived among the most powerful magisters for many years,” the elf pointed out and Anders found himself biting the inside of his cheeks. Fenris pointedly cleared his throat. “About earlier…”

 

“Save your breath,” Anders cut him off tiredly. “It seems I can say whatever the Void I want, it doesn’t matter, you keep –“

 

“I have made you angry and did not understand why,” Fenris interrupted in return. “You have helped me and never asked for anything in return.”

 

The mage sighed. “I told you before, I don’t want anything in return. I know what it is like to be kept as prisoner and not being allowed to make your own decisions. To depend on the moods of the ones holding an axe just above your head, ready to strike whenever you don’t do as they say.” He grabbed another bandage – and a vial with lyrium, just in case. Hawke sure looked like he was in need of more healing than his current amount of mana allowed. He had been healing the one or other person strolling into his clinic while Fenris was gone.

 

“I see,” Fenris murmured, but Anders didn’t really believe the elf did.

 

“If you stayed because you keep waiting for a chance to repay me, I am now telling you there’s nothing to repay me for. I don’t need someone around who stays out of self-imposed obligations.”

 

Fenris looked thoughtful for a moment and Anders listened to Hawke groan and complain on his cot.

 

“What _do_ you need then?” the elf asked.

 

Anders felt his lips curve into a smile. A small, sad one but still a smile that he didn’t even feel. _No one_ , the petulant, childish side of him insisted; or maybe it was Justice, who was convinced they needed no one but themselves, even though the spirit understood and honored the idea of comradery. One of the very few things Justice had learned during his time with the Grey Wardens, trapped in the rotting corpse of a man named Kristoff.

 

“A friend,” Anders answered truthfully, only realizing the truth of his words himself as he said them. “Someone I can actually trust with my life.”

 

Fenris nodded and gazed at his naked feet. “I understand.”


	9. Nine

Two days of careful observation confirmed Fenris’ suspicion that Danarius had not left Kirkwall. Even though the mansion appeared to be abandoned, Fenris did occasionally notice movement behind closed curtains. Just an hour ago, he’d seen three men deliver two heavy-looking chests, exactly the kind of chests Danarius would travel with. Expensive, dark wood and eye-catching decorations and ornaments. Free Marcher work, no doubt exclusively made for the magister. Danarius did like to show off his wealth and regularly returned from his travels with another treasure that others would eye with jealousy.

 

Fenris had come to Hightown at all times of the day, watching the mansion for a few moments, sometimes hours if something interesting seemed to happen. At night, it lay in complete dark, suggesting that its inhabitants had indeed left the city, but Fenris couldn’t believe Danarius wouldn’t do everything within his power to find him. Not only was he the – probably main – reason why people kept a respectful distance to the magister, but he wore a fortune of lyrium in his skin. Even if Danarius no longer cared about his disobedient slave, he’d want the lyrium back. Fenris had no doubt Danarius would enjoy carving it out of his skin, slowly, just to torture him one more time.

 

If Fenris weren’t aware how much pain and agony awaited him, he might have let him. The elf studied the silvery lines running across his right palm, equally fascinated and disgusted by what had been done to him and what it made him capable of. A secret he intended to keep from his newfound companions at all costs.

 

“Well, well, what have we here? A stray elf.”

 

Pointy ears flattened against the sides of his head at the sound of the familiar voice and Fenris glanced down. He’d completely forgotten the world around him, feeling safe on the stacked crates, from which he had a clear view on the mansion’s back door. White teeth flashed at him and Fenris studied Varric’s stocky appearance and the way he casually leaned against the bottom crate.

 

“Blondie not missing you yet?” Varric asked.

 

“I am sure he’s occupied enough,” Fenris shot back.

 

“You’ve been watching the mansion for days now,” Varric stated. “You’re not getting homesick, Broody, are you?”

 

“You were wrong,” Fenris grunted out and hopped off the crates. “He’s still here. He had a delivery a little over an hour ago. Danarius just wants me to think he left, so I feel safe and come out of hiding.”

 

Varric hummed thoughtfully. “My sources told me he got on a ship and left. That would be an awful lot of trouble just to fool a slave, don’t you think?”

 

“You don’t know everything.”

 

Varric’s thick eyebrows rose. The dwarf’s interest was piqued and Fenris wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “You stole something from him?”

 

Fenris gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I suppose you could call it that. Now, what brings you to Hightown, other than watching me watching Danarius’ mansion?”

 

The dwarf grinned. “Business, of course. We’re almost set to leave for the Deep Roads, but Hawke and I will need a few more...let’s say _capable_ men for protection. Naturally, I thought of you.”

 

Fenris’ bare feet kicked at a pile of dust and he crossed his arms. “Why me? Anders says it’s a suicide mission and I am inclined to believe the mage.”

 

“Well, it’s also a mission that promises wealth.” Varric leaned heavy on the crate and looked at the elf expectantly. “You want to start over. You know what everyone needs if they want to get away and start over somewhere else?”

 

“What?” Fenris grunted out.

 

“Money, my friend. Everything costs coin. A passage across the Waking Sea to Ferelden? A ship’s captain will want to see some good coin if he risks his head smuggling a Tevinter slave out of the Free Marches. You’ll need food, clothing, maybe a new sword. Unless you plan to sleep on the streets, you’ll need money to afford a nice room at the next inn.” Another toothy grin. “With the fortune found in the Deep Roads, you can build yourself a palace and pay enough men to protect your sleep, in case Danarius indeed comes after you.”

 

Fenris huffed. “If I survive.”

 

“The Deep Roads _are_ dangerous, yes,” Varric admitted, “but it’s not like the next archdemon is waiting there for us. We probably won’t see much Darkspawn either, since they retreated after the last blight was over.”

 

“I am less worried about the Darkspawn and more about the greed of the men that accompany you,” Fenris retorted. “I’ve seen the people that bought themselves into the expedition with their last coin. Some of them are shady figures and I sincerely doubt they’ll think twice about slitting our throats while we sleep and take off with our share of that ‘fortune’ you suspect in the Deep Roads.”

 

Varric snapped his fingers and offered a broad grin. “And that is _exactly_ why we need you with us.”

 

No matter how much Fenris wanted to deny it, the dwarf was right. He would need coin to get anywhere and to provide for himself. Anders wouldn’t be able to help him and Fenris wouldn’t want to take more from the mage than he already was by overstaying his welcome in the clinic. Not that Anders had ever said as much. He had assured Fenris that he could stay, as long as he needed, but the elf had a feeling that having constant company was making Anders nervous.

 

“I will consider it,” Fenris murmured. “It is true, I won’t get far without some coin in my pockets.”

 

“Maybe you can convince Blondie to come along, too.”

 

The elf snorted and he gave Varric a doubtful look. “He doesn’t want to be anywhere near you two and I believe he made it very clear what he thinks of your expedition.” Fenris glanced at the mansion and straightened his shoulders. “Before we leave, _if_ I agree to come along, there is one thing I will have to take care of.”

 

Varric followed the elf’s gaze and sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

 

~*~

 

The final rays of light left Darktown, blanketing the clinic in comforting darkness. The last patient had left and Fenris helped lock and tidy up. He’d been anxious most of the day. Anders wondered if the elf simply couldn’t wait to leave and follow through with his idiotic plan, or if he was uncertain about it now and didn’t know what to do.

 

The scents of different herps hung thickly in the air. Inbetween taking a look at patients, Anders had been making potions to restock his numerous shelfs, all under Fenris’ watchful gaze. It seemed like watching the mage prepare ingredients had a calming effect on. At least he hadn’t been pacing or picking up things here and there while he was watching.

 

As expected, Fenris’ plan on possibly joining Hawke’s Deep Roads expedition had gained him disapproval from the mage. Anders couldn’t imagine why Fenris had thought he’d support the idea. It was like marching right into the archdemon’s den; Anders had learned it was better to keep away than to try and face the enemy. Especially if said enemy was too strong.

 

“You’re restless,” Anders said as he checked the pot still brewing over the fire. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

Fenris sighed softly and leaned back in his creaking chair, legs stretching out in front of him. “I’ll never truly be free until I’ve faced and defeated him.”

 

“Not to say we’re immortal or something, but how exactly are you going to defeat a, as you said, powerful magister with nothing but a sword on you? If it were that easy, you could have ended him months ago.” Anders stirred the pot and returned his full attention to the now scowling elf. “Maybe that’s what he wants? Make you come to the mansion and have _your_ head on a silver plate instead.”

 

The elf smirked. “I do expect to walk right into a trap, mage.”

 

“Awesome,” Anders remarked dryly. “And who are you taking with you into that trap?”

 

Fenris’ eyebrows rose. “No one. This is between Danarius and me.” Anders gave him a skeptical look. “What. You never faced those who have wronged you and took revenge?”

 

“No.” Anders smiled humorlessly. “Because that would mean me against the Chantry and the entire Templar order. I’m not stupid enough. If I want to live, I keep a low profile. Which is what I’m doing.” He gestured around.

 

“You call running a free clinic and offering your magical healing powers to everyone who crosses the threshold ‘keeping a low profile’?” The elf snorted.

 

“It worked until now, didn’t it? Besides, the thankful residents of Kirkwall will not sell me –“

 

“For the right amount of coin, they will,” Fenris interrupted and Anders’ cheeks puffed with indignance. “And I know you’re not naive enough to believe what you just said.”

 

Anders gave a long-suffering sigh and shrugged. “No. But I’d like to believe that not everyone’s a corrupt bastard willing to sell out their own mother for the right price.”

 

“Oh, is that what happened to yours?” Fenris taunted with a smirk.

 

“No, other way round. And yours?”

 

The elf frowned at the mage’s now hardened features and Anders knew Fenris realized he’d crossed another yet unknown line. “I don’t remember,” he heard the elf mutter. “I remember nothing that happened before I woke up like...this...” Fenris raised his hands and presented his palms to the mage.

 

Instead of answering, Anders slowly reached out and touched a fingertip to the lyrium line running across the middle of Fenris’ right palm. The elf pulled away immediately with a low growl.

 

“So, what can you do with them?” the blond asked. “Do they have any...specific effect on you?”

 

“Other than enhancing my physical strength, no,” Fenris replied easily, hands balling into fists. “It is time to leave,” he said then and glanced around for his belongings.

 

“Fenris, you’re getting yourself killed,” Anders told him. “You can’t just walk into a mansion and challenge your former master and _how_ many of his guards?”

 

“I’ve killed an entire Fog Warrior tribe by myself,” Fenris reminded as he shuffled across the clinic to retrieve his broadsword.

 

“Yeah, but that tribe did not have a blood mage in their midst that possesses the ability to...let’s say _revive_ fallen men,” Anders retorted. “Neither did they call up an army of demons, right? All he has to do is keep you busy long enough to exhaust you and then...”

 

Fenris spun around with a growl, actually causing Anders to take a cautious step back. “And _what_ do you suggest I do, mage?” he snapped. “Find a hole to hide in for the rest of my life?”

 

“At least you’d be alive. What good is freedom if you’re dead?”

 

The elf gestured around angrily. “And this is a more promising option? Living in a rotten place, hiding away from those who want to see me dead for the rest of my life?”

 

“This place isn’t rotten,” Anders argued, slowly becoming angry as well. They had that effect on one another, he’d learned over the time the elf had lived at his clinic – one got angry and the other would too, eventually. Most of the time, they weren’t even angry _at_ each other, but became so.

 

For no reason, as it always turned out in the end. Apparently, they just liked to fight.

 

“The clinic is worse off than most dungeon cells I’ve seen!” Fenris barked and it was enough to get Anders’ blood to boil for real.

 

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” he hissed at the elf. Justice made itself known, enraged over the Fenris’ poor assumption as well, and Anders turned his back to the elf quickly, focussed his attention on his desk and tried to keep calm.

 

“As if _you_ have ever been in one,” Fenris taunted. “ _You_ have no idea what you are speaking of, mage. Mages do, by far, not suffer the same fate as those they consider lesser beings, such as an elven slave.”

 

With an angry shout, Anders grabbed one of the books on his desk – it dealt with recipes made of elfroot that he didn’t consider very informative, anyway – and turned around. “This is _not_ fucking Tevinter, you ungrateful bastard!” Anders snapped and threw the book before he could stop himself.

 

Fenris didn’t duck away and in the split second Anders watched the book fly toward the elf, he already regretted the reflex that made him throw it. A hundred thoughts crosed his mind, it felt, of the possible injuries Fenris could carry away once the book connected with his face or head.

 

When an eerie blue light lit up the semi-dark clinic, Anders found himself frozen to the spot; eyes wide as he watched the book fly past Fenris. No, he thought, not past – it went right through the elf and landed on the dusty floor with a loud ‘thud’. Who, or rather what, was standing in front of him now didn’t look like the elf anymore, though it carried his silhouette. To try and describe it seemed impossible, but what Anders could strongly sense were the Fade powers radiating from the creature.

 

The light died and Fenris wide, green eyes stared back at him.

 

Anders sucked in a breath and took a step back. “It went right through you,” he stammered.

 

“Mage,” Fenris growled lowly; warningly.

 

“Maker’s breath, _what_...”

 

“Mage, calm down and let me explain.”

 

“What’s there to explain?” Anders asked around a nervous laugh. He sounded bordering on hysterical, at least to his own ears. “You just...you...what are you, a ghost?”

 

Fenris snarled in response, body taut as a bow string. Ready to escape, Anders thought, like a wild animal. “I am not...” The elf paused and shook his head. “I shall take my leave, as planned,” he continued then and Anders watched Fenris reach for his broadsword. “I shall assume that after tonight, we will not see each other again.”

 

Anders frowned at the elf’s haunted features when their eyes finally met again. In the few weeks they had known each other, he had never seen Fenris scared. Most of the time, Fenris was angry. When he managed to relax, even if only for a few hours, he showed that he possessed a dry humor and was smarter than one would think of a slave that had been kept on chains all his life.

 

“Thank you for everything,” Fenris said quietly and Anders wondered if this was truly their goodbye now. If tonight was the night the elf would leave and start over.

 

Or get himself killed trying.

 

Justice was upset and Anders’ hands clawed at the edges of his desk, trying to keep the spirit under control. Justice disagreed, and Anders found that he did, too. The words ‘Don’t go’ lay heavily on his tongue, but the image of Fenris turning into...whatever it was Anders had seen, kept that very same tongue tied.

 

Anders didn’t need any more trouble. Fenris was capable and would take care of himself – if he survived. He could start over someplace, maybe find himself a pretty girl and have a dozen children.

 

_If he survives_.

 

Or maybe he’d travel across Thedas and free slaves everywhere? Join the Dalish and live a merry life in the woods? The Brecilian Forests were beautiful, at least as far as Anders had been able to see. Or maybe he’d settle in Denerim’s alienage? From what Anders had heard, life there was better now.

 

_If he survives_.

 

**_A single man cannot defeat a maleficar and his henchmen_** , Justice objected and Anders blinked when the spirit’s interference made him snap out of his seemingly endless train of chaotic thoughts.

 

He was alone in the clinic.

 

“Well...so much for that, I suppose,” Anders murmured and gazed at the now empty spot that Fenris had vacated only moments before.

 

**_We need to go after him_**.

 

Anders paused, mid-movement, as he was reaching for the book he’d thrown at the elf earlier. “Why?”

 

**_We made him our responsibility when we brought him here and freed him of his chains_**.

 

“Oh, no, no...no. _You_ brought him here and caused a whole lot of trouble, Justice. All of Kirkwall heard about the incident because _you_ don’t understand the meaning of subtle,” Anders reminded. “We did what we could. Freed him from his master, freed him of that collar he was wearing. Offered him shelter, gave him food and much needed rest. He wouldn’t have been safe here for much longer and we both know it. His master or whoever that bastard pays would have come for him.”

 

**_What has been done to him is a great injustice._ **

 

“And it’ll be an even greater injustice when he dies while attempting to free himself of his last shackles...” Anders grabbed the book and stared blankly at its cover. Cracks of blue appeared across the hand holding the book and he could feel Justice trying to win the upper hand. “No,” he said sternly. “Not again.”

 

If Justice knew how, Anders was sure the spirit would have growled angrily at him, as Fenris liked to do whenever they had one of their utterly pointless arguments.

 

“Justice, what happened a moment ago? To Fenris, I mean,” he murmured. “Was that truly...the Fade I felt?”

 

**_The Veil separating our worlds does not exist for him_** , Justice replied in kind.

 

“But how? How did he...” Anders paused and remembered touching his fingertip to the lyrium line on the elf’s palm. The lyrium had been alive and pulsating, just like the raw lyrium he’d seen in the Deep Roads. He had felt his own magic react to the power coursing through them and wondered if Fenris had felt it, too.

 

What exactly had Danarius created?

 

Anders sighed loudly and carelessly dropped the book on the ground again. “Fuck this,” he muttered before he grabbed his staff and marched out of the clinic.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://lamentaslair.tumblr.com/).


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